Not Even Human
by oi-oi-oi
Summary: Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, a man with scissors for hands was found by a group of children. Finished.
1. First Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Edward, the poor dear. I don't own anything to do with Tim Burton, the genius. So, please, from the bottom, the middle, and the top of my heart—don't sue me.

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Not Even Human

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**Reds**, purples, greens, and a whole family of other colors glowed in their small egg-shaped bulbs, while covering the sides of the neighborhood roofs like bright gumdrops on the starchy icing of a gingerbread house. 

Suburbia was always at its prime in December, while the rest of the year glided monotonously along—like a little kid whistling a song again and again until you wonder how he himself can stand it; but never in the month of December. December was the special month.

The warm, gooey smells of hot chocolate lingered in the icy air. Christmas trees stank of sweet pine needles, red ribbons and plastic candy canes hung entwined together on door after door. Stores were packed with parents dashing here and there for gifts, cards, and wrapping paper. Metal shopping carts clicked and clanked down toy aisles, while counter cashiers worked their fingers to the bone to serve the long lines of people. Lights blinked cold blues, cinnamon reds, and mint greens. Counterfeit Santa Clauses "ho, ho, ho!"-ed while ringing bells and gathering their donation money.

But the snow was the _best_ thing about Christmas.

Snow didn't have bright lights, presents, or even candy. It was quiet, lovely… slowly falling downward from the heavy steely gray clouds at its own good pace. And not one thing caused more happiness or excitement, for that matter. Imagine waking up after a pleasant night's sleep to see your very own front lawn caked in fresh snow! Imagine all the lovely snowflakes twirling and whirling past your little window!

It was so very wonderful in December.

There was one slight problem. Just one little, little problem—that was, you see, that the snow itself did not belong there. No, _indeed_. Grandparents told stories about how not so much as a snowflake had fallen in this town, until one Christmas Eve a time very long ago… and, then the stories stopped. Old folks particularly hated going into detail about the mysterious _'_one day _long_ ago'.

All this cold cheer and fluffy white-wonderland snow reminded the old folks of _him_. No one talked much about him anymore; most of the old codgers that knew the whole story had actually long since died.

So the story gradually sank deeper and deeper, lower and lower from a drama worthy of news headlines to a silly bedtime story. This solemn-silly tale became an urban legend—simply an alligator in a sewer, an absurd tall tale made up by adults to frighten unruly kids. Nothing more than a speck of truth layered in a thick clay of thrilling lies.

Some stories say _he_ killed himself, some say _he_ was murdered in a brawl with a neighborhood boy, and some even say he roams the streets of Suburbia to this very day, craving blood and slashing car tires. But that weird urban legend was indeed still up there on the Old Hill, in the Old House, chipping away at the ice and living as decently as one could manage in such a solitary condition.

The Old Hill was a solitary, grey, cloudy place, which was left unscathed and unexplored, and it remained perfectly unbothered though the many years. The colossal topiaries and outlandish ice sculptures and dandelion arrangements varied from time to time, but, of course, no one had dared to venture close enough to observe these changes for themselves.

As though an invisible curtain had been pulled over the House, the good people forgot and ignored it, as if it were wallpaper to their fantastically normal little lives.

Snow itself was the proof that the monster was still around, still watching everyone live their smoothly bland lives from his rotting and rickety castle window. Even still, there always would be a curious little boy or girl who'd ask, "Where does all this snow _come_ from?" Normally, the parents wouldn't answer (they wouldn't know themselves), but if a Grandma or Grandpa happened to be around, the they would glance towards the House, mumble about their poor aching back, and meander away.

0O0o0O0o0o0oO

"Hello, Mom!"

"My goodness, Jake, get yourself out of that dreadful cold!" said the old woman, whose short height barely met up with her son's shoulder. Quickly, the granny gave a cordial glance over to a lady standing next to her son in the doorway, "Come in! Oh, Molly, nice to see you, dear!"

Jake and Molly Walters stepped into the warm, dry den of an elderly Kimberly Walters (or Boggs, her maiden name…and, besides, K.B. were the initials on her luggage; she had never bothered to switch them to K.W.). Jake hugged his mother, quite gently, because anything else might've broken something or made one of her intestines burst. Molly, his wife, kissed Grandma Kim's warm and wrinkled cheek.

Altogether, it was a rather sweet scene. Almost something you might expect to see in one of Norman Rockwell's paintings; happy, rosy-cheeked, bundled-up family kissing and hugging and fussing over each other.

"I hope you haven't been spoiling them, Ma…" said Jake, taking off a slightly hokey knitted jacket.

By 'them', Mr. Walters meant his two children—Bobby and Lucy.

"Oh, now. That is not fair." The old lady gave a thin smile. "You can't honestly expect a Granny to leave her grandchildren unspoiled? That's simply ridiculous. Besides, like I've always said, you can only spoil _vegetables, _not children."

"They haven't been any trouble, have they, Kim?" asked Molly.

Granny Kim squinted past her large, twinkling bottle glass glasses. "Oh, no, not at all, honey!" Her glasses glittered again, "They've been _absolute angels_ the whole time, dear."

"Oh, thank God. I've been fretting for the whole trip back on how'd they'd be—It's just that I hope you didn't mind taking them on such short notice. I'm sorry, I would have given you—"

"Not to worry, dear." Said Kim, in a very motherly way, "They've been so good. And they keep me young, don't they, Jacob?"

"_Well_…dunno 'bout that..." Jake gave a grin.

Grandma sent funny look at him and shook her head, jokingly. Little strands of silver hair glimmered as she did. "You be quiet, you. I could throw you out, you know, and then what, mister? Hmm?" She chuckled a bit at herself, and quickly led them along inside. "You're both as cold as death! Oh, I know just the thing for it…How about I fix the both of you some nice _hot_ _chocolate_, hmm?"

_0O0o0O0o0o0oO_

Lucy couldn't go to sleep, no matter how hard she shut her eyes. She closed them so tight; it hurt, and still no sleep. She resolved to counting sheep, but even that didn't work right.

Was Grandma telling the truth? Lucy _had_ seen Grandma tell lies before, but Granny had always been a horrible liar, which, as Mommy always told Lucy, was a very good thing to be bad at. Plus, Lucy was pretty sure that Grandma was telling the truth about this one...it seemed, after Lucy had mulled it over, like it could be perfectly possible. Yes, yes, perfectly possible. After all, Granny was rather old and she knew just about everything there was to know in the world.

Lucy dug her face deeper into her frilly pillow, drowning herself under the cozy thermal blankets. And the little girl thought, very hard, about how Granny's bedtime story could be _perfectly_ possible. There was the Castle, up there, and old people sometimes grumbled about the 'day long ago' and… as always, there was the _snow_. It seemed so strange but so utterly, perfectly possible.

Lucy felt a big tremor slithered down her back as she thought of a man with scissors for _hands_, a man dressed in black leather, wild hair, and pale, waxy skin. She never could think of him as a hero, not like Robin Hood or King Arthur, but she seemed partial to put him in the villain category.

_He's like the Boogeyman…! I guess, only…a bit nicer and sweeter, like Grandma said._

At the thought of the Boogeyman, Lucy held on tighter to her teddy bear, and shooed the scary, dark thoughts out of her head. Suddenly, her ponderings were interrupted by her big brother's snoring in the next room. Lucy grouched as she covered her ears, and coiled herself up and snuggled up beneath the large covers.

Bobby was eleven, and he, like any respectable boy his age, considered bedtime stories beneath him. He often scolded Lucy for listening to Grandma's stories. And Lucy was fast approaching the ripe, old age of eight.

The wind sang spookily against the windowpane, like an ally cat wailing to the stars at night. It was a quite unnerving, and Lucy clutched tighter to her red teddy bear, and slid deeper and deeper into the bed until she thought she would surely submerge into the mattress.

Lucy peeked out her head from her coverlet, after the wind stopped wailing and groaning…and the little girl stared out the long window, her eyes drifting to the monstrous, shadowy, fortress-like House on the Hill.

The House was gigantic and looming above the bright, cheery town. It wasn't a house, actually—it was more like a medieval castle or a haunted mansion in ghost stories. An icy pit opened up in the bottom of her stomach, and a zillion tiny shivers tap-danced up and down her spine.

The little girl shivered from the cold, and buried herself under a soft tomb of blankets.

_0O0o0O0o0o0oO_

Pretty soon, the day started all over again. The same kind of day that everyone had, everyday, every year.

And Bobby was at it again. Eating with his mouth full, letting the whole world see what was getting stuck in his braces. Grandma Kim was looking at Bobby with a glint of disapproval in her eyes. She slapped his hand, told him to behave like a gentleman at the table, and Bobby cowered and obeyed. Five minutes later, he was showing his food all over again.

Lucy stared down bemusedly at her Christmas-themed breakfast cereal and played with the marshmallows in the creamy milk. After a little while doing this, Lucy sighed quietly.

Bobby finished his breakfast before everyone else, as usual. He was acquiring quite the appetite lately—but this had something to do with growth hormones, which Lucy's father had gone into strenuous lengths to frighten her with. Dropping his spoon in his cereal bowl, Bobby announced, "I'm going to Andy's place."

"Get dressed and then you can," Jake's voice was muffled because he was biting into a raisin bagel.

Bobby gave his father a sulky, this-is-obvious look. "Dad! I_ am _already dressed!" Bobby pointed to his jacket and jeans, to further illustrate his adequate winter uniform.

Molly looked vicious, for she was uncommonly strict when it came down to snow-clothes "You go put some warm clothes on. I don't want a frozen kid on my hands."

Bobby glared at his mother, and she glared back. And he eventually gave up and went to his room to change.

Lucy felt happy that she had dressed properly, and a small spark of confidence burned in her young soul. Little things, like dressing properly, made Lucy pleased with herself; which is rather ridiculous, but all the same, she was a very particular little girl. Her brother shuffled out of his room minutes later, dressed and layered for severe cold. Bobby had a frown on his face and an extremely twitchy eye.

"I'm off!" yelled Bobby, while bounding for the glass door.

"Wait up, there!" Jake called out, half of the raisin bagel in his mouth, "Take Lucy along with you too, Bobby."

The boy stopped dead in his tracks, and suddenly looked totally defeated. "What?" Bobby gave out a mortified little moan, "No, Dad, c'mon…please, don't make me do that…"

Molly looked at Bobby, angrily, "And why not, young man?" Molly put down her green and red coffee mug. She

looked softly over her daughter across the table. "Lucy, don't you think having a nice walk with your brother would be nice?"

"No, that's okay," Lucy said, rather casually, but not feeling casual at all inside.

"Are you sure, honey?" said Grandma Kim, concerned, "Looks like fun out there. Are you sure you don't want to?"

"Yes," Lucy said, mumbling absurdly, "I'm sure…"

Bobby pounced on his chance of freedom, "I guess that's fine with everyone, right? Right. See you later!"

And with that, Bobby sprung from the floor and threw the kitchen's sliding glass door open. In the wink of an eye Bobby was out of sight.

0O0o0O0o0o0oO 

Andy and Bobby's hands were cherry red from holding the cold snow. They stuffed the white ice in their mouths, chewed it and let the ice shards trickle down their throats… and they sat back, in cat-like readiness, eyes wide, senses ready, and their muscles rigid with anticipation.

The child's version of war was the snowball fight. The amount of craftiness and ruthlessness involved was simply unbelievable.

The two of them quickly sculpted arsenal and hid behind a car. Bobby had seven or eight small snowballs in his hands, cradling them like a baby, and Andy was doing exactly the same. The other boys in the fight were artfully hidden as well, and each one was waiting for someone to throw the first.

The tension was breath taking. The peril was freakishly real.

A tiny whispery voice creeped up behind the crouching boys, "…_Bobby_?"

Bobby gave a little whimper and jolted, making all his "weapons" fall back to the ground. He looked around, pallid and pale as the snow beneath him.

Quite soon, though, his complexion discolored from a frightened pale to an angry lobster-red. "Lucy!" Bobby bellowed, "Oh, man…What…" He lowered his voice down, before he gave their station away," _What are you doing here_?"

Lucy was going to apologize, but, all of a sudden, a rain of snowballs hit the two children. They tried to fend them off, but all in vain. Bobby's pride was shattered, and his reputation hurt. Lucy just looked confused and shocked, as she fell on her back.

After a few minutes of fire, the children stopped, I suppose out of mercy, and came over to investigate. They looked at Lucy, almost untrustingly, and then they turned towards Bobby for an explanation of the newcomer.

Bobby jerked his gloved thumb in his little sister's direction, "My little sis." Bobby explained and brushed off the snow from his coat. "—Lucy."

Andy, who was a tall, lanky, tough-looking sort of boy with ruffled reddish-brown hair stepped out of the mob. His voice was that of an eleven-year-old, but his mood was that of someone much older.

Andy snapped out that Lucy had completely ruined the game, but he wasn't upset. He snapped when he was happy or amused—and this whole situation interested him very much, especially since Lucy was young and looked a little stupid—because a crafty idea for some terrible _fun _was rattling inside Andy's head. Finally, he snorted, finding the little girl's embarrassment rather tickling. So, Andy appraised Lucy, and asked, "How old are you?"

"Eight," Lucy's voice shook, while she slightly lowered her head, "Almost eight, anyways..."

"So you're really only seven? _Oh, really_?" said Andy, a little darkly, as he looked over to Bobby, "Hey, why did you bring a snot-nosed little turd along with you?"

The rest of the crowd muttered out a unhappy '_Yeah?'_ while they nodded their beanie-covered heads.

"I didn't." Bobby stood up for himself, a little too defensively, "My parents wanted her to come, and she said she didn't want to come. I thought she wasn't coming anyway! I mean, she creeped right up to be—you saw her, Andy, didn't you? Yeah, you _did_ see her do that! I don't know what the heck is wrong with her."

Andy grinned, his eyes glittered with shadowy, malicious schemes. This was great stuff. He could probably have some good fun with this!

Shuffling uncomfortably in her puffy marshmellow-like snow jacket, Lucy explained herself. "I only wanted to play with you guys."

This came as a shock to everyone, and they began to whisper and mutter.

"Okay, Lucy," said Andy, in a somewhat kind voice, but something hurtful lurked beneath its sweetness, "Let's play a really fun game."

Andy slapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly. His grin was stretching to bigger and bigger sizes. The children all shot Andy a look that said, _What game? Don't leave us out. We want to play, too!_

"Is it a snowball fight?" asked Lucy, eagerly, and quite happy that she had been offered.

Andy's grinned like a maniac—the only thing that assured everyone that he hadn't gone completely loony was his dark, very sober eyes. "No, it's better than that!" His bright smile continued, "This game is called 'Haunted House', and it's a billion times better than any snowball fight."

Lucy smiled back to the grinning Andy, and the both of them stood smiling crazily at each other for a long time.

"Really?" Lucy squeaked, finally, "How do we play it?"

"Well, Lucy..." said Andy, in mock hesitation, "I don't really know, come to think of it, if you'd really be able to play this game..."

Immediately, Lucy's spirits sank, and she asked "Why not?"

"Nothing...That's okay, Lucy, you know, I shouldn't have asked you anyway."

Andy sighed a deep, sad sigh and shook his head, pretending to reprimand himself for being so totally thoughtless. He started to walk away, kicking the soft snow, dejectedly.

Lucy found the courage to follow Andy, and she scrambled to get by his side, "I...want to play 'Haunted House'! Please!"

"No.…c'mon, Luce, _you really_ _don't_ wanna—" And now Andy flashed a very crafty, devilish smile, "—do you?"

"Please!" Jumping up and down, going completely batty from the curiosity of it all, Lucy begged for him to tell her.

"Pretty, pretty please with a cherry and whip cream on top!"

Some of the kids became rather annoyed with waiting, spat in the snow, and yelled out "Just tell her, Andy!"

"Well...I dunno..." Andy said, slowly, as if thinking about it, and then, in an instant change of character he said,

"_Sssure_… why not, right? Lucy can take it, right?"

The boys and girls leaned forward, knowing mischief was brewing.

Bending his long, thin legs down to Lucy's diminutive height, Andy spoke up. "Here's the deal. You ever heard of the House on the Hill, Lucy?"

Her stomach churned like spoiled, chunky milk. House on the Hill, the place were a ghoul lived in a cold, mysterious home, the monster who cut ladies' hairstyles, the phantom who did gardening free-of-charge for the neighborhood, and the great cookie inventor who died before completing his final masterpiece, and the all the glorious snow, and the boy with scissors for hands — _scissorhands!_

"I guess you have heard of it. Great! So...what you have to do is go up there, go in the house, stay there for a couple of minutes, get something from inside, and come out. See, Lucy? Piece of cake, right? Then you can play with us all you want, that is—if you're not too _chicken_, of course."

The kids all giggled in excitement (except Lucy, of course), and they sneered at each other knowingly, like they all were in on some absolutely fantastic joke.

"A double Devil's dog dare. But, y'know…Lucy's not a _chicken_, so she'll do it just _fine_. Right, Lucy?" Said Andy, coolly.

That sealed Lucy's fate. No child besides cowards and weaklings, ever, _ever_ chickened out on a double Devil's dog dare. The little girl's heart was pounding like an Indian war drum—oh, gosh, Lucy didn't want to be seen as a coward or a weakling. She stared up at the congregation of children, especially Bobby and Andy, and then to the snowy ground. She shivered. _Oh, gosh…oh…!_

"…Okay." Lucy felt her heart skip a few little beats.

A great wave of commotion went over the crowd and, naturally, gossip spread like wildfire. The kids even started betting money on if she would last less than one single minute up there in the old Haunted House before she'd come tumbling back, crying her eyes out. The gossips started spreading the word that a "psycho killer" lived in the House, and he had claws and Gillette razorblades for hands, seven legs, laser vision, and teeth sharpened to a point. Lucy felt her spindly legs begin to tremble violently—and she wished desperately that she could swallow all her words back in her mouth.

Andy took up and air of generalship and commanded in a loud, almost manly voice, "Let's go!"

A terrible, blood-curling cheer came from the children, as if they were jungle cannibals sacrificing a sheep to the tropical volcano gods.

0O0o0O0o0o0oO 

A white grin beamed out of the TV, nearly blinding its viewers. A wavy, carefree voice happily informed the world of murders, kidnappings, gangsters, and all things generally shocking and enticing. The TV anchorwoman was trim,

clean, and sparkling today in her classy blue dress and white coat

_"And now to our local weather forecast, Timmy!" _

She beamed, and the screen switched to a young man handsomely attired in grey and red. He smiled as widely and as brightly as the anchorwoman.

"Hello, everyone!" Timmy the Weatherman said, chuckling, "Christmas spirit is enough to ward off the Grinch but, unfortunately, not bad weather!" Behind him appeared a weather chart, "Looks like we have _baaaad _weather coming our way, folks. Tell your kids to wear scarves and mittens… cause we're gonna have one _heck_ of a snowstorm!"

Molly, Jake, and Grandma Kim were still gathered in the kitchen, sipping coffee and hot chocolate.

"Jake," Molly said, as a frown bent a few wrinkles on her face. "Maybe we should go out and get the kids?" And already, she was getting up and going to the door.

The husband waved his hands, dismissively, "C'mon, please, the kids'll be fine, honey. Trust me, I grew up with snow my whole life—and this is _nothing_ to be worried about."

"A snow storm sounds pretty serious, though, doesn't it? I mean, this is a snow _storm_, Jake. Plus, I'm not so keen

on—"

"Honey," said Jake, "Bobby's probably having a blast with his friends—Lucy's probably even _making_ friends—and just think how embarrassed they'd both be if we dragged them off? Plus, think of Lucy. Lucy wanted to make some friends, honey, and I think it's best we leave them alone to…y'know, play and act like little runts and monsters, just like normal youngins do." Jake made a strong argument, but he never even glanced up from his newspaper, "… _Beside_s, those TV anchors always screw up weather reports anyway."

With that, Jake dug his long nose further into the daily paper.

Molly looked at Grandma Kim for a second opinion, but Grandma looked like she was steadily dosing off. Mid-morning exhaustion; some drool was even starting to collect around the corners of her old mouth.

Molly couldn't put her finger on it but something made her uneasy about Lucy and Bobby being out in the snow.

_0O0o0O0o0o0oO_


	2. Second Chapter

A huge, gigantic, immense, great, big, fat thank you to all of my reviewers (you know who you are). I really love your support and thank you for calling my story "well written"--though I don't think it's all that.

* * *

Not Even Human—Chapter Two

* * *

"**Go** on—go, already!" Yelled the impatient young mob at the shivering little girl.

The neighborhood kids had walked the girl all across the neighborhood up to the black, bleak House. The whole trip had been in almost unbroken silence, except the sounds of their cold breath and the snow crunching beneath their feet. Lucy had heard adventure stories about pirates forcing people to walk the plank, and that's exactly how she felt right now, a person being pushed off a plank into a deep, black abyss.

"I ain't gonna stand here all day!" A boy shouted at the back of the crowd, followed by a few equally disgruntled children.

Lucy could feel her nose tickle, her face grow warmer, and a few fat tears welled up in her tiny brown eyes.

"Oh, look, she's crying!"

"I'll bet six whole bucks she'll only get half way up to the gate!"

"I'll take that bet! I say she won't even make it half!"

The cold wind was starting to become high and shrill, and some of the kids looked like they wanted to go home and be warm. The snow fell quickly, as if in a hurry to get away from the blackish-grey clouds that hovered on top of the small, dainty town. .

Lucy, despite herself, swiped off her sticky tears, straightened her coat with a heroic air, and charged through the mob.

All eyes were on Lucy as she charged through the crowd, and she gallantly pretended not to notice the smirks and whispers. She kept her pace until she reached the weed-tangled, black-brown gate and then she walked as if in water, slow and unbalanced. Dwarfed by the enormous size of the gateway, the tiny child looked cautiously upward. The gate was a stately, albeit time-worn, piece of twisted, rusted iron; and the crumbling gargoyles on the large stone wall around the castle were the stuff of nightmares.

"Well, open it!"

Lucy put her glove on the snow-covered handle of the iron gate, and, violently trembling, she pushed it open. The gate gave a loud screech, making the little girl—and all the others, as well—jump up with pure terror and excitement.

The little girl crept inside the snowy courtyard, as quiet as a mouse.

The kids gasped and gawked, all eagerly anticipating what would happen. Some expected a huge, hairy man to burst out of the topiaries and slice Lucy to bits, others expected a half-iguana monster to leap out and swallow little Lucy whole.

But nothing happened.

Snow-sprinkled animal topiaries swayed lazily with the wind in the icy garden. For a moment, Lucy rubbed off her tears and paused to survey the area. Even though it felt cold and freakish—it was much prettier than other gardens she had been in, and she was sure her mother would like it very much. But it was a strange, eerie kind of prettiness, the kind that made you sigh and shiver at the same time.

One stupendously unnerving thing about the garden was a larger-than-life topiary of a human hand, set exalted above all the other topiaries—as if it were a statue of a famous president put on a pedestal. The rest were beautiful things; hearts, angels, dogs, cats, flowers, birds, fish, and even something that looked like a flamingo plucking out its feathers.

By now, the children waiting at the gate couldn't see her, since she was in the inner part of the garden. Some of the kids poked their necks through the gateway's bars to see Lucy's progress…but they saw nothing but thick, wild snowfall and a few tossing topiaries flowing back and forth. They began to wish she would just come back to them crying, so that they could all go home.

As the air was picked up by a flood of wind, more snow fell down in the garden. Lucy happened to look up and see the snow blowing out of the roof of the House, like leaves blowing off a tree—it struck her as oddly curious but, the little girl disregarded it, as she was too cold to really care.

Lucy—like all small children— was always weak in extreme cold and was prone to fainting dead-away. But—oh, golly!— she was so close to the door now. So close to that mammoth, rotting-black door. Then she could go inside, get something—anything—and then run to freedom.

Her head swam round, as the corners of her eyes went fizzy, and she felt the ground slip beneath her as though a carpet had been pulled out from under her feet. Startled and disoriented, the girl tried to lift herself up from the ground, but her arms and legs didn't budge. Trying to call for help, but with no one coming, tears started to freeze on her cheeks. Eyelids exhaustedly fluttering, Lucy suddenly felt sleep creep up on her. She was very sleepy, indeed…

But sleeping was bad in the snow, very bad—Mommy always said never to—

Deciding to close her eyes, Lucy fell deep asleep.

* * *

…_She's just a baby._

A leather-clad figure watched a small speck of a girl glide along below him. His pale plastic pink lips smiled. Although he was somewhat glad to see a visitor, it made him shake with terror as well. It was like seeing a great thunderstorm crash through the sky when a child came into the courtyard, because it would cause great awe and fear at the exact same time.

He never wanted to scare children but, from his memory, he always made them to cry, stare in horror, or run away. Except that time when Kevin Boggs took him to something called 'Show and Tell' at Suburbia Elementary School, and, as Kevin put it "showed him off". That was the first time children had looked at him with wonder, and, he liked to imagine, even respect.

The young "man" leaned against the open window, staring down at the tiny girl. He had seen many children scurry in and out of his courtyard before, and each time he wished they would come inside, if only for a little while. And some did almost come inside, but as soon as they touched the threshold, they would run, full speed, back down to the gate.

The sounds of whimpers came up from the courtyard. He quickly hid away from the window, thinking the girl had seen him, but the little girl kept crying. She wasn't crying because of him.

He peered out the window again, curiously.

He wished he could go down the stairs and help, but he knew better. He knew that if he was stupid enough to do that, he'd only make things worse. Besides, he was supposed to be dead, and wasn't meant to come out, or else he would certainly get Kim into a horrible amount of trouble. And, at the thought of what the town's people might do to her… the mechanical man gave an involuntary shudder.

He felt slightly better, after he noticed that the girl was admiring at the garden topiaries.

His father had taught him many things about etiquette, but he never needed to use etiquette—because he was always alone. But, nevertheless, one interesting thing his father had taught him was how to handle children, the voice of the old, kindly inventor still echoed in the boy's metal head—'Be especially gentle with children. Children are fragile things, much more fragile than adults are, and they are very sensitive to first impressions. They like stories and toys and sweet candy. They hate medicine and household chores and taking baths. It's your duty, Edward—as well as everybody else's duty—to protect and comfort them.'

Absent-mindedly chipping away at some of the ice sculptures, he peeked out the window every now-and-again. He expected the girl to run, like the rest of them, and it would only be a matter of time before she did. And, so he kept chipping—waiting—for the sounds of feet running through snow. And then she'd be gone, and he'd be alone.

But nothing like that happened, and this confused him a little. The mechanical man, snipping his silver scissor hands, looked out the window again. A sharp terror slit right through his fake heart, as he saw the little girl sprawled out, limp as a rag doll. Strangely, her small eyes were closed, yet she didn't look like she was sleeping.

_Oh…!_

He rushed out of the attic, down the long stone steps, and pushed open the incredibly heavy front door. Since he couldn't spare any hands to help her up, so he knelt down and carefully picked her up with what he could use with the rest of his arms. He was particularly careful to check that his abnormal hands were a safe enough distance from the tiny creature, and he gingerly brought the unconscious child into the House on the Hill.

* * *

Lucy woke up on a hay mattress and she felt her jacket drip with cold, chilling melted ice. The air was wet and dark and smelled of cookies. And, she realized, it hadn't been a dream. As she was certainly not where she was before, Lucy's first thought was that she had died. Dust got into her nose, and before she could properly cry, she sneezed loudly—the sound echoed slightly in the drafty, gloomy room. 

"Bless you..." Said a low voice in the shadows. It was weirdly polite. Yet Lucy started at the sound of an alien voice and, after some time, peeked out of the blanket she had used as protection and saw a slim, grey shadow kneeling at the side of the bed. After a moment of acknowledging this grotesque spectacle, the little girl let out a horrified scream.

The shadow jolted, surprised, and got up; it retreated backwards, against the darkest wall. Lucy also backed up against the wall covered in clips of magazines, book illustrations, and newspapers.

Lucy's grew frantic and she began to cry like a child half her age. In utter despair, she curled up in a ball and shook terribly. She had heard her parents talk about kidnappers and murderers who took little children and did terrible things with them—and, at the end of it all—those children's pictures ended up on the back of a milk carton.

The girl's eyes began to sting from crying, and salty tears flowed down her round face. A sort of unimaginable terror grabbed her very spirit. Lucy's eyes were far too blurry to see the soft-voiced shadow now, but from the sounds of creaking floorboards, she knew the shadow came slowly closer and closer. There was a shimmer of something sharp. She gave a short scream, and pushed harder against the wall.

Immediately, the shimmer disappeared into the velvet black shadows.

"Don't kill me,don't kill me," Crying, in a very pathetic way, she said "… don't kill me!"

The shadow stood there for a long time, trying to blend in with the dark. It lowered its head, "I won't." The thing paused slightly, shifting nervously in the protection of the darkness. A clickity-click and snippety-snip noise and a sad, tired sigh came from it. Lucy wondered if she could get away before it would take the chance to kill her.

Lucy used the blanket to get the tears off her face. After doing so she could see the shadow more clearly; it was a tall, crazy haired, and incredibly gaunt man—with very long knives in his hands. She wondered if the man would stab her to death and she became perfectly silent.

"Are you going to kill me?" The little girl hardly believed a thing going on.

"No."

"Your hands," Lucy saw a bright gleam of two or three knives attached the man's shiny arm, "Ss-scissors?"

The man nodded his head, politely but still very shaken.

"Are you Edward?" Lucy asked, now amazed.

Once again, a cordial nod.

There was a long, dry silence. To Edward's amazement, the little girl's face transformed from terror beyond reason to a politely cautious and skeptical countenance.

"You're not as tall as I imagined." The little girl noted, a bit critically, "But did you save me from the—snow and stuff out there?"

Edward blinked at the first comment and said, "Yes," to the second.

"Oh." A long pause followed and then, "Thank you, Mr. Scissorhands."

_Am I Mister Scissorhands…? _Edward thought, puzzledly, while slowly becoming aware that 'Mr. Scissorhands' must've been some sort of honorary surname. But, he supposed, it made sense enough—since, indeed, his hands were made of scissors. In fact, it was a nice change to be referred to by a last name.

"My name's Lucy." Said Lucy, being very friendly, as she stared into the huge shadows in the room. "I've heard about you, Mr. Scissorhands. But...you're not as scary as I thought you'd be, really."

"Nice to meet you..." said Edward, his voice becoming quiet again.

"It's very nice to meet you, too."

Feeling brave enough to get out of the straw bed, her attention shifted from Edward to the ice sculptures. They were tall, glittering things, that were far grander than any ice sculpture she'd ever seen at any of her cousin's weddings. She went up to a particularly pretty one, an angel with large, feathery wings and a sweet, smiling face.

Lucy pointed to the angel, while also admiring the ice sculpture with two birds kissing. "They're like those bushes outside. They're all very pretty."

Lucy kept on looking at the ice sculptures and moving from one to another, nodding her head, as she had done in art galleries. Edward watched her from the shadows, his hands snipping, curiously.

"Do you live here, Edward?" Lucy asked walking towards him again.

"Yes." Edward replied, making sure he was a good distance away from Lucy.

"All alone?"

Edward stopped and nodded his head.

Lucy felt like bringing Edward home to Mom and Dad, and asking if she could keep him, like she had done once with the stray cat, but her parents said no with the stray cat, so they would probably say no to Edward, too.

Lucy walked up to Edward, and he continued to back away from her. "Why are you doing that?" She asked, not so much curious as frustrated.

"I might cut you," His hands snipped. Edward had become very conscious about how his scissorhands could damage people, since he cut Kim and Kevin...and pretty much everyone in Suburbia... many times during his long ago stay.

"Oh..." said Lucy, frowning, "But, if you put your hands behind your back, maybe you won't?"

Edward tried it, and stepped one small step closer.


	3. Third Chapter

Alright, alright. I admit it...I really DO own Edward Scissorhands!  
  
Uh, that was sarcasm, so, to all you lawyers out there, please don't sue me!  
  
()()()()()()()()  
  
Not Even Human—Chapter Three  
  
()()()()()()()()  
  
**The** mob of children poured into the courtyard. They all began to search for Lucy under bushes, sculptures, and topiaries—all to no avail. Not a trace of Lucy was anywhere, not even her footprints, for the snow had already blotted them out from the ground.  
  
Bobby felt sick in the stomach. He wished with every able atom in his body that he had never let Lucy go. Sure, he thought Lucy was a little annoying, but he never wanted to kill her. She was his sister, for Christ's sake!  
  
Andy was commanding the fleet of children to search here and there. Andy seemed to be the most worried. The boy knew that he was the one that made Lucy go, and he knew all to well what police and parents did to boys like him. He was in a most delicate position at the moment.  
  
The children struggled not to stare at the surreal background, but some of the younger ones couldn't resist stopping completely to gaze at the hand topiary.  
  
The mood of the crowd became frantic. Some kids started to turn around and run back down, leaving before they became too much involved in this incident. Other kids just started running around, like headless chickens, calling Lucy's name.  
  
"She's in the House." Bobby said, his voice drained of all human emotion, "Oh my God. She's in the House."  
  
"You think she made it that far?" Andy asked, his voice muffled as he bit his nails.  
  
Bobby did not answer. Instead, he walked slowly, solemnly up to the huge, gothic door of the castle. He had the terrible nobleness of a man condemned to death. The boy bravely went up the tall steps, slick from hardened snow. Bobby silently stood infront of the castle door. It was slightly ajar and snow trailed into the inside—signs of someone already having ventured into the blackness.  
  
Andy, after a moment of consideration, followed his friend. Even Andy could be loyal sometimes. After that, the rest of the crowd marched up the steps and stood by Bobby and Andy's side.  
  
Bobby's heart was beating violently as he pushed the iron door open, and the children recoiled at the shadowy world this stone castle contained.  
  
In the places it wasn't black, it was grey. Cobwebs covered whole walls, and rats and mice scurried away from the sound of human feet approaching. A whistle of the wind echoed through the dilapidated, creaky mansion. Silence. The kids shivered and straightened their backs, as if waiting for a gun to shoot them all.  
  
Andy was trembling and he wiped cold sweat off his brow.  
  
"Aw," said Bobby, in a sarcastic tone that didn't quite go with the hideous moment, "You afraid, precious?"  
  
"No." Andy snapped, glaring two freezing eyes at Bobby, "I'm not afraid of anything."  
  
A sonorous shriek of the icy winter wind blew around the House, making the hairs on Andy's arm stand as straight as needles.  
  
"What was that?" Andy said, breathlessly, "Oh, shit! It's—it's that psycho thing. The thing in the stories! Oh, shit!"  
  
"And what if it is?" said Bobby, glaring meanly at Andy, "_You're _not afraid of anything."  
  
"Shut up, bastard!" Andy shouted, his hands coiling in a fist, getting ready to hit Bobby in the face. He reconsidered, and lowered his fist. Hurting Bobby would make things worse.  
  
Andy continued to swear at Bobby and curse Lucy under his breath.  
  
The girls and boys of the mob clustered together, since they had always known there was strength in numbers. The girls started to giggle nervously. The boys were looking wildly about, with clenched fists, ready to hit whatever waited for them in the shadows. Mostly the boys were sweating harder than wax candles.  
  
"This, like, is seriously freaking me out..." said a small valley-girlish girl in the crowd. A few of the kids nodded to her comment.  
  
Bobby looked around, trying to stay out of the shadows as much human feet made possible. He called out for Lucy many times, and only a mocking echo of his voice replied.  
  
"Let's look upstairs, guys." Bobby told the crowd of children, as he put his foot on the first step of the staircase.  
  
"Waddya mean "guys"?" asked a kid, in a you-gotta-be-kidding voice.  
  
Bobby looked at them, "Come on, guys...Please. She's my sister."  
  
No one moved.  
  
Bobby scowled at them, and shot a particularly nasty glare at Andy. Bobby tightened his chest and climbed up the staircase, step by step, one by one, part by part. Each step dug a sharp, black dagger of fear into him, but he persisted for his sister, nonetheless. When he finally reached the top, after what seemed to be a million years, Bobby felt like he was on top of the world.  
  
The kids looked so short and stupid as they looked up to him, admiringly. Bobby leveled himself, feeling his legs go wobbly from the excitement.  
  
Bobby turned around, gulping down hot drool, and he faced the dark, satanic shadows. He walked right into them, and the children below gasped.  
  
He heard the floor creak as he slowly meandered down. He couldn't see his hand infront of his face it was that dark. He must have been walking down a hallway, for he then saw blue-greyish light come from out of a door's outline. He walked faster.  
  
Bobby heard voices, too. Soft, nice voices—like his sister's. Bobby kept on walking faster until he broke into a run.  
  
Bobby grabbed the sides of the doorway to steady himself, as he almost slid past the door.  
  
"Lucy!" he screamed, hysterically, as he ran towards the voices, "Lucy, are you okay? Lucy!"  
  
A cold silence.  
  
During that cold, forbidding silence Bobby noticed the gigantic ice sculptures in the room. He shook off any impression he would have normally had from them, and he called out for his sister.  
  
"Bobby?"  
  
"Lucy!"  
  
"Bobby?" Lucy peeked behind one of the ice sculptures. She smiled. "Bobby!"  
  
Bobby rushed over to Lucy, and he was relived to find her unscathed and quite happy. He was also glad that she was alone, and no "psycho killer" was around to slice them to dog food.  
  
Or so Bobby thought.  
  
The boy turned around to see Edward. The boy froze; his mind went blank. Edward looked back at the boy, thinking that he was going to be as welcoming as Lucy...  
  
"Holy shit!" Bobby cursed. He was so loud, the kids downstairs could hear him. "Holy fucking shit!"  
  
"It's okay." Edward tried to explain, coming closer to Bobby, "I won't—"  
  
Bobby pushed Lucy behind him, heroically; "You stay the fuck away from us!"  
  
Lucy tugged at Bobby's sleeve and tried to explain that Edward was peaceful. Bobby Walters would have none of that talk.  
  
"Jesus Christ!" Bobby swore again, "He's got razors for hands! He's got—!"  
  
And the rest was pure, uncensored swearing. Lucy tried to figure out how much money Bobby would have to put in the swearing jar—it was well over ten dollars by now.  
  
"Bobby, cut it out!" Lucy shouted as she twisted her brother's arm. Bobby gasped, painfully—but it made him stop.  
  
"Lucy, run while you can!" Bobby said, desperately. "He could kill—"  
  
Lucy stamped her foot on the ground, angrily. "Eddie wouldn't hurt a fly, Bobby!"  
  
"That freak—"  
  
"Edward is _not_ a freak, Robert! He's nice!" Lucy hissed. Bobby was only called "Robert" on rare occasions. Lucy never called Bobby "Robert".  
  
Edward started to back away into the shadows again. He knew when he was causing trouble.  
  
"Don't go!" Lucy pleaded, running over to Edward.  
  
Lucy turned back to Bobby, her brown eyes incredibly hateful for an eight-year-old. "Look what you did, Robert! You scared him away!"  
  
"What _I_ did? Do you have any idea how damn worried I was about you?" Bobby snapped at his sister, angrily. "And stop calling me Robert!"  
  
Edward was about to slip away into the other side of the room, when a loud "Whoa!" came from the door. Edward jumped, surprised.  
  
More children were coming into the room, and Edward worried on how he was going to keep his hands away from them.  
  
The kids all flocked around Lucy, making sure she was alive. After finding her alive and kicking, the children started to look at the shining sculptures towering above them. They gazed, open-mouthed.  
  
Bobby was fuming with annoyance, "Oh, sure, _now _you come and help me!"  
  
Lucy pushed past the crowd of children.  
  
"Edward!" Lucy said, in her nice way, "Edward...don't be shy..."  
  
The kids looked at her, confused. They kept watching her persuade something from the shadows, and they started to think she went loony.  
  
A grey shape came into view from the ghostly shadows. The kids all gasped, loudly, and backed away.  
  
"Don't listen to them, Eddie," Lucy said, softly, "They're always being stupid like that..."  
  
Edward hesitantly stepped out of the shadows, his scissorhands glinting in the new, bright sunlight that was streaming through the fallen- apart ceiling.  
  
Edward tried to smile. He streched his razor hands out infront of him. He looked like a shy zombie.  
  
"This is Edward Scissorhands," said Lucy, as she turned to the crowd, "He's very nice—and he's _not_ a freak."  
  
Silence.  
  
"He won't hurt us—Eddie wouldn't even think of it."  
  
Silence.  
  
Edward snipped his "fingers", nervously. He hated being watched and gawked at.  
  
Silence.  
  
"_Cooooooll!_" Said a group of boys, their voices in a chorus. Their eyes gleamed, impressed, as they looked at Edward's hands.  
  
The girls soon joined in their admiration of the machine man, and they all said his sculptures were beautiful.  
  
Edward blushed, bashfully.  
  
()()()()()()()()()()()  
  
"Mom!" shouted Bobby, panting as he pushed the sliding glass door open. "Mom, you won't believe this!"  
  
Molly, Jake, and Grandma Kim were in the living room. The TV was still on, and an annoying commercial with jumping candy canes was booming out of the electrical box. Jake and Grandma stayed on the sofa, lazily, as Molly got up.  
  
Molly ran over to Bobby and fussed over everything; his hair, his temperature, his gloves, and Lucy. She looked around worriedly for Lucy, and demanded to know where she was.  
  
"Mom, Mom," Bobby said, holding his mother's arms, "Just _wait_ until you see this! You'll never believe it!"  
  
Bobby broke free from Molly's grasp and he rushed other to his Grandma. Kim looked up at Bobby, and Bobby smiled from ear to ear.  
  
"I never believed you, Gran," Bobby confessed, happily, "That crazy, stupid story about Edwardo—Edward—whatever—Scissorhands."  
  
Molly and Jake looked at Bobby as if they were going to murder him. Kim frowned, quite hurt by the boy's words.  
  
Bobby looked Grandma in the face, "But I do now! I've seen him with my own two eyes!"  
  
"Bobby," Kim said, her voice offended, "What do you mean?"  
  
"Just wait and see!" Bobby said, running out of the sliding glass door.  
  
A minute later there was a big commotion outside. Kids were chatting to each other, running, giving orders, being ordered around, and coming into the Walters' kitchen.  
  
"Come on, Edward..." The adults heard Lucy say, "I'm sure she'll remember you!"  
  
The children pulled Edward through glass door, and pushed him forward.  
  
Edward was blushing a bright red, and he looked downwards towards his feet. He didn't want to look up, knowing that Peg and Bill would be looking at him—thinking he was a ghost. He didn't want to look up and see Kim's face—she thinking he had stupidly come out of the House.  
  
Edward wanted to cry. He remembered what happened that night with Jim. He hated Jim, though he knew it was wrong to hate. He couldn't help it. And then there was Joyce; he didn't like Joyce. Her claw-like fingers, her pink lipstick, her tight clothes— Joyce disgusted him.  
  
Edward shivered as he thought of what the Suburbanites would do. Hang him, shoot him, beat him? Death was inevitably in order.  
  
Edward wished he had stayed at home.  
  
Molly gasped, horrified, and she stood staring at Edward. Jake yelled and sprang up from the sofa, with his fists ready to clobber the monster.  
  
Kim would have gasped, screamed, or even laughed—but she found no strength to. She was old and feeble, and such a sight as this paralyzed her. Kim felt her senses go blank. She didn't believe what she was seeing.  
  
Kim stopped breathing. No one noticed.  
  
"W-who and w-what—" Jake stammered, still holding his fists, "—are you?"  
  
"Honey, stay away from him!" warned Molly, and she turned to the children, "Kids, don't go near it! It doesn't look clean!"  
  
Edward's head shot up. He didn't recognize any of those voices, and they didn't sound like Peg or Bill. He saw two unfamiliar people staring back at him, horrified. Another unfamiliar person was on the sofa, with their eyes closed. Edward frowned.  
  
Lucy came out of the mob, "Mommy, he won't hurt us! His name's Edward Scissorhands. The one from the stories, remember?"  
  
Molly and Jake watched the leather-clad man.  
  
Jake Walters said, "Lucy, don't get—" Jake glanced back to his mother for a moment. He saw her unconscious.  
  
Jake spun around, forgetting the monster, and ran over to his mother's side. "Mom! O my God! Molly, come and help me! She's not breathing!"  
  
Molly also forgot about the dangerous-looking man in the kitchen, and ran over to Jake. "Kim? O my God...Kim! She's not breathing!"  
  
Edward gasped. "Kim?"  
  
()()()()()()()()()()  
  
Tell me what you think, amigos! 


	4. Fourth Chapter

()()()()()()()()  
  
Not Even Human—Chapter Four  
  
()()()()()()()()  
  
**Kim** lay in the warm, fleece blankets of her hospital bed. Wires and tubes were stuck into her, as if she were pincushion. Her eyes were closed, peacefully, her mouth was curled into a smile, and Kim's silver hair spilled over the stiff, white pillows.  
  
Jake was holding her withered hand and caressing it. Molly sat at the end of the bed, with her usual worried expression plastered on her face. The room was cream-colored and warm. It smelled of lemon air spray, and the glow of the lamps and electric lighting had been dimmed.  
  
Kimberly was close to death, and yet she looked happy. She had been ready for the Grim Reaper for a long time by now.  
  
Bobby and Lucy were outside sitting on a soft grey sofa, waiting to be called into the room. Bobby looked terrible; his face was haggard and his hair messy. He was crying, quietly. Lucy was crying on her brother's shoulder, helplessly. She had tissues sprinkled all around her.  
  
Edward, to the reluctance of Molly, Jake, and everyone in St. Joseph Hospital, had been allowed to come to Kim at her time of death. The children had insisted that he come along, and Kimberly had called out for "Dear Edward..." many times in the ambulance. So, the decision was made for him to come.  
  
The nurses were wrapping his scissors tightly in cloth, so that he wouldn't cause so much alarm. He had tried his best not to move his fingers. The young nurse glared at his scissorhands, with a sick, disgusted face—but when she saw his face, she smiled, charmingly, and batted her eyelashes. Edward ignored this, as he remembered how hazardous flirtatious women could be.  
  
Edward had his head bowed. He felt like someone had scooped out his insides and left a gap. He was trembling, and he wanted more than ever to cry. He didn't care about the stares and whispers anymore. His only concern was if Kimberly was going to live. He didn't even recognize her—she'd changed so much—but he still loved her. As his father had put it so many years ago, "Love is blind, Edward. It never bothers about looks. Not real love."  
  
If so, then this was real love.  
  
Those minutes waiting were the longest Edward had ever lived. Even after decades living alone in the quiet of his desolate House—he had never felt time go more slowly.  
  
Lucy and Bobby had heard their parents make sad, hurried phone calls to the family. Aunt Jillian had screamed when Jake, her younger brother, told her of her mother's dire situation. Aunt Jill and her husband, Frank, were driving over to the hospital as fast as they could. They called Kevin, too. Great Uncle Kevin, Kim's kid brother, was living in Florida, where he retired after working for NASA. Kevin's son, Kennedy, was working with NASA's robotic section. Both were getting airplane tickets to fly to Kim's deathbed.  
  
The young nurse got up and winked at the machine man. Edward just stared back, as he remembered the many times Joyce winked at him. He shuddered, wishing he could forget all about that terrible woman.  
  
A tall, bland doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope dangling carelessly around his neck walked up to them. He was wearing large bottle- glass glasses, which made his brown eyes magnified to the size of tea saucers. His hair was a dull brown and his face was as plain as paper.  
  
The man stopped infront of Kim's door and checked the chart he was holding under his arm. The doctor nodded, glanced over to Lucy and Bobby, and motioned for them to go inside. But the doctor gave a particularly cold, disapproving glare at Edward, and he shook his head, solemnly.  
  
"Sir," The doctor said, in his nasal, drone of a voice, "We can't allow you into the room. The patient might be startled."  
  
Edward frowned, helplessly, and opened his mouth to say something—but nothing came out. Whatever Edward was going or trying to say, Lucy said it for him:  
  
"Please, sir," said Lucy, looking up at the doctor, "Edward'll be careful. I think he'd die if he doesn't see her."  
  
The doctor's straight, stiff face relaxed, as he heeded little Lucy's soft words. The impassive doctor looked down at the little girl and then to the timid thing that stood before him. He was a hard man to break, but Lucy managed to make him obey after a moment or two of pitiful pleading.  
  
The doctor cleared his throat and walked into the room, gently opening the door. They followed him into the white, clean room, their eyes immediately drawn to Kim's graceful figure sleeping and dying in bed.  
  
()()()()()()()()()()()  
  
Kim could hear him coming. It was hard not to; he always made that chiming, clicking noise when he walked. Kim loved to hear it, and she had almost forgotten how beautiful it sounded. She could smell cookies and ice. She could hear soft silence against her family's sobs and wails. She could feel the quiet comfort standing by her bed.  
  
Her dear, poor Edward.  
  
Kim could hear the doctor say things, but she couldn't make them out properly. It was as if he was speaking another language, and she was a curious child trying to listen in from another room.  
  
She could feel Jake's rough hand pet hers, carefully. She felt Jake's blood-warm tears drip on her wrinkled, gnarled hands. She could hear Molly sniff and gasp; crying, but doing her best not to be. She could hear her little, dear Lucy cry next to her, and Kim could feel Lucy's petite hands grab strongly onto hers, as if the little girl thought she could hold her Grandmother away from death. She could hear Bobby sniff loudly and whimper, horrified at what was happening.  
  
She could only feel faint-hearted Edward, the shy phantom that loomed next to her. Kim smiled, knowing that Edward was close to her again. She would die happily.  
  
As she listened to voices talk a long, complex gibberish, Kim felt the slight waves of sleep wash over her. She longed for the oblivion of sleep, and the drugs and syrups had helped her along into her mellow attitude.  
  
She felt safe and loved. She was warm and comfortable—she was ready to leave her mortal coil. Kimberly Walters fell into a deep, refreshing sleep.  
  
She dreamt of that hot, sweaty summer night that she met kind-hearted Mark Walters. It was a beach party, the waves lazily stroking the sand, and the orange and gold sun slowly setting over the blue ocean. She was in her first year of college, and her lovesick heart was still torn, beaten, and singed from losing Edward. What tormented her was that he was still alive, and her love was still suffering silently up in the desolate House. She cried herself to a sad, nightmarish sleep each dark, lonely night.  
  
She dreamt of her college friends trying to cheer her up, bringing a slightly confused Mark infront of her. She remembered the colorful lights, the plastic lilies, the soft yellow sand, the Hawaiian décor, the cool, refreshing drinks, the warm breeze coming from the ocean, and the lively melodies flowing out of the radio.  
  
Mark had been, no doubt, handsome, but something in his brown eyes kindled pity and understanding of Kim's trouble. He had the air of a gentleman, and he treated Kim like a lady.  
  
Kim remembered the first time they danced. To them, everyone at the beach disappeared, and they danced alone on the sands. Mark wasn't particularly witty, but he was kind and gentle—and he had a special smile each time he saw Kim. He would hold her and comfort her until she forgot everything about Edward.  
  
Each time she kissed Mark, she felt a pang of guilt spring in her heart. She thought of her dear Edward, and what he would think if he saw Mark holding her. He would be heartbroken.  
  
But Kim loved Mark, with every bone in her body. He loved Kim back, dearly, and, in their sophomore year in collage, he asked her to marry him. She kissed him, put her arms around his neck, and said "Yes!" in a triumphant shout that made many people in the restaurant they were eating in turn their heads, smile, and clap their hands.  
  
The girl had no regrets about her decision. She knew Edward would have wanted her to be happy, and so she proudly walked down the church aisle in her white wedding dress. All pain for Edward died that day—but her love for him was still boxed up somewhere in the corners of her heart.  
  
She dreamt of having Jillian and Jacob, the two most glorious days of her life. Of seeing them grow up, fall in love, get married, and have children. She dreamt of her brother growing up, getting married, moving to Florida to work for NASA, and he and his wife having Kennedy. She remembered soothing Kevin over the phone when his wife died of cancer.

Kim dreamt of the day Mark died. She still felt her heart sting as she thought of when she got the phone call from the hospital saying he had been killed in a car accident.  
  
Kim remembered the night she said farewell to Edward. She could still feel his sweet-smelling breath on her face; she could still see the longing in his black eyes. She could still feel the tingle of his lips. The way he had comforted her, in his quiet, meek spirit. In a way, she desperately wished she was still being held by him.  
  
She felt a small smile creep onto her old mouth, as she peacefully opened her eyes from her dream. She didn't feel depressed by looking back on her life, despite the few bad parts, Kim Walters had really loved and been loved.  
  
The room was dark, and the white moonbeams shone through the plastic shutters of the window. Snow glittered outside, on the trees, the benches, the flowers, the houses, and everything in sight was coated with the cold, cool, shimmering snow. Lucy and Bobby were asleep on the comfy, cushioned hospital chairs. Molly and Jake, both leaning on each other, were dozing in between asleep and awake.  
  
Kim felt tears in her eyes when she saw them. She loved them so much, and they looked so happy. She truly must have been sleeping for a long time for Jillian and Frank had arrived—and they were tranquilly snoring next to Molly and Jake. Kim smiled as she thought of her daughter, Jill— such a smart, pretty woman she had turned out to be...  
  
Grandma Kim felt something sitting next to her, and she slowly, tiredly turned towards a young man. He was pale as the snow, his hair as wild as any winter wind, and his eyes as black as coal.  
  
Edward Scissorhands; everyone was asleep except him.  
  
Like a lost childhood doll, he looked just the same. A bit dustier, dirtier, perhaps, but still young, innocent, and wide-eyed. Edward's two sparkling eyes, like two bright stars, stared at Kim, lovingly.  
  
Her cheeks grew hot as she blushed, as if she were still the teenage girl he had known so many, many years ago. He looked so much the same, and she was shriveled, wrinkled, and wasting. Edward gazed at the old woman. The face that stared back looked like it had once been Kim's face, but it had been scrunched up and crinkled. So, now it was only a ghostly, enchanted outline of an angel.  
  
His smooth, colorless face smiled, tenderly.  
  
"Hello, Edward," Kim greeted, weakly. Nonetheless, the song of her voice was still graceful and elegant.  
  
There was a bit of shy silence.  
  
"Hello," Edward replied, his voice was as fresh and young as a spring daisy.  
  
"You're as handsome as I remember, dear," Kim said, patting Edward's arm—she noticed he still had his scissorhands. She felt pity for the poor boy having to put up with such a terrible disability.  
  
"You're as beautiful as I remember," He said, blushing.  
  
Kim laughed, finding that flattering but terribly untrue. She felt her throat clog up and she started to cough and choke, sickly. She put her hand to her chest to calm down the fit.  
  
Edward was telling the truth, though. He rarely lied, and he would have never lied to Kim. She _was _as beautiful as he remembered; her hair, though no longer the golden gloss, was a stunning silver, her eyes still shone a pale glory in the moon light, and her smile was sweeter than he had ever seen it.  
  
They didn't need or want to talk more. It was just fine staring at each other.  
  
Kim had the feeble, worn-out look Edward's father had displayed the day before he died. It was a sign of death, and Edward knew it all too well.  
  
"Edward," Kim kindly explained, "I'm going to die."  
  
"I know..." Edward's voice was cheerless and painful.  
  
"I'm sorry, dear." Kim said, in a motherly sorrow.  
  
"You don't have to be." Edward whispered, his chest shrinking with mournful emotion.  
  
Kim slid her hands down from Edward's leather-clad arm to his long, cloth- covered hands. She stroked his "hands", affectionately. She brought one of the cloth wrapped razors to her lips and kissed it, carefully.  
  
Edward looked hopeless. He leaned closer to Kim and he ever-so-gently rested his head on her shoulder. To Kim's dismay, he was trembling like a scared puppy. She somehow amassed the energy to lift her arm up and comb his tangled hair with her fingers.  
  
"Thank you." Edward said, shivering with fear.  
  
Kim nodded her head, slowly, as she caressed his thick, black hair. His hair was glossy and plastic, just like the rest of him. She saw that the cuts on his face were still there, and she wondered if they would ever heal.  
  
Kim's hand felt tired and she put it back down again. She felt drained and dizzy, like she had drank too much champagne. Her eyelids felt like lead, and she let them droop down. Her breathing slowed down lethargically, and Edward could feel something inside her was slipping away.  
  
Kim smiled, dreamily.  
  
"Don't go yet..." Edward whispered to Kim, sadly.  
  
But Kim had already gone, and the soul of Kim Walters had already flown away.  
  
()()()()()()()()()()()  
  
Tell me what you think, my beautiful reviewers.


	5. Fifth Chapter

Thank you for the touching reviews, guys! Getting a review is like getting a box of Belgian chocolates!  
  
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Not Even Human—Chapter Five  
  
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** Lucy's** eyes were covered with the notorious sandman's sand the next morning. She quickly rubbed the yellow grime out of her small eyelashes, and she yawned, letting in a huge stream of air into her mouth. The first thing she saw was Aunt Jill, Uncle Frank, her father and her mother, and Bobby gathered all around the sides of Grandma Kim's bed. They were all silent, with the exception of a few soft sniffs and weak sobs.  
  
Lucy saw that Edward was sitting in a corner, all alone, with his head drooping, and his scissorhands shivering. She hated seeing him alone. He looked like a rag toy that had been thrown away and abandoned by a selfish child.  
  
Lucy managed to heave her body up off the chair and slowly crawl over to Edward. He, Lucy observed, was much paler than before, and Edward didn't seem to notice that she was approaching. He was as unmoving as glass, and his black, plastic hair covered his scarred face like a curtain.  
  
"Edward?" Lucy whispered, thinking he must be asleep.  
  
She gently tapped him on the shoulder. Edward stayed still as a statue; he wasn't even breathing.  
  
"Edward?" She persisted, calmly. She tapped his shoulder again.  
  
He lifted his head, inch by inch, his eyes climbing up to Lucy's. The little girl's heart snapped as she saw the cutting, sour, and heartrending gloom that was being held in those two glass black orbs called his eyes. He looked different somehow...he wasn't older or sadder, but he looked like a part of him was gone, like a missing piece to a jigsaw puzzle. Edward watched Lucy come and sit next to him with dead, sorrowful eyes.  
  
Edward lowered his head again, soberly.  
  
Lucy frowned, concerned, and she felt his forehead with her pink, petite palm. His waxy forehead was as cold as snow and just as white. No...it wasn't a sniffle or a cold. Eddie wasn't sick...or, at least, not his health.  
  
"Eddie," Lucy whispered, wrapping her tiny hand around his big, leather arm, "What's wrong?"  
  
Edward didn't say a word, he only looked at her hand grabbing onto his arm, and then he gazed down to the blue and white tiled floor. He sighed, the sound of tears and tame sadness ringing in his sweet breath. He wished with all his heart that he could hug Lucy right now, or, he thought, he would be eternally happy by just shedding a real, watery tear. Yet both were impossible, and Edward knew it.  
  
He always wondered what it would be like to cry. Was it like bleeding? If it was, then he wasn't missing anything. He knew what pain was like. But, Edward wasn't perfectly clear on what it felt like, and he had never had the courage to ask someone. He had always imagined crying as taking the pain inside of a person and making it flow outside, so that it would never come back. He wanted to cry.  
  
"It's alright, Eddie," Lucy said, gingerly hugging Edward's arm, "Grandma'll get better soon. She'll live, I know it..."  
  
_You don't know, Lucy?_

__  
  
"I bet any moment now she'll spring out of the bed and be as right as rain!" Lucy said, excited by the very idea of her Grandmother making a miracle recovery. "And we'll all have tea with my dolls at home..."  
  
_No, Lucy. We can't._  
  
"Grandma, you, and me...we'll all have Christmas together, Edward. And we'll have a great time, too." Lucy encouraged, hope and anticipation stinking strongly in her voice.  
  
Edward wanted to tell her so badly, but his mouth felt like it was sewn shut. He felt Lucy sneak under his arm and hug him, lovingly.  
  
Edward's heart stopped. A child had never hugged him before, and he was not accustomed to the feeling. He had only been hugged once before, and that had been with Kim. Not even his father had hugged him, kissed him, yes, many times, but actually hugged—never.  
  
Lucy hugged Edward, as if he were a huge, cold, leather and plastic teddy bear.  
  
Molly gave a short whelp when she saw Lucy hugging onto Edward. She swiped off the tears from her rosy cheeks and rushed over to pull her child off. Edward's cloth-covered hands were razor sharp, and horribly dangerous for a child to be close to.  
  
"Lucy, Lucy!" Molly cried, as she pealed the small girl off, "He's dangerous, honey! Don't get close to him, baby!"  
  
Lucy struggled in her mother's sturdy arms as she was being yanked away from Edward. Molly was infinitely stronger than her little girl, and it was no problem for the mother to protect her child from the monster. Edward looked up at Molly, deeply hurt, but the defensive Mother only returned the look with a frown.  
  
()()()()()()()()()  
  
When Molly told Lucy that Grandma Kim had "crossed the rainbow bridge" last night, the little girl had burst out in tears. She became inconsolable, crying her eyes dry, and clinging onto her father, who was crying a few manly, solitary tears.  
  
Grandma was stiff as whitewashed wood, her eyes were staring off into space, her skin was icy smooth, and she was wrinkled like a dead rose. Lucy felt sick to the stomach just looking at it, and she had to cover her mouth to prevent gagging. The thing in the bed wasn't her beloved Grandma anymore. It was like a glove with no hand in it; limp, dead, and white.  
  
They all watched, grievously, as Kim was carefully carried away. The family stayed in the room, crying and calling other family and telling them about Kim's peaceful death.  
  
Aunt Jill, a short, red-cheeked, blue-eyed, fading blonde woman of her early forties, and her red-haired husband, Frank, were soothing Bobby and trying to put his irritated nerves to rest. Aunt Jillian gave Edward a curious glance, but made no attempt to speak to him. Frank just ignored Edward altogether.  
  
"You say he's that robot or something from Mom's stories?" Jill had asked Jake, in a hushed tone. Jake bobbed his head up and down, seriously.  
  
Jill's lips tightened and she frowned, cautiously, as she looked the "man" up and down. She looked as if she was judging a horse in a derby. The woman nodded approvingly at his face, for it was handsome enough; she scowled at his hair, it was too messy; she winced at his hands, a flicker of hate beaming in her sky blue eyes; and she shook her head at his horribly unfashionable leather clothes.  
  
Jillian could fix all that, though. She, after all, she had carried on the family legacy of being an honorary Avon representative. She had her own salon in the next town, and she had graduated beauty school with flying colors. She had been waiting for a challenging case like Edward for years.  
  
()()()()()()()()()  
  
Surprisingly, Kennedy Boggs was also waiting for a challenging case. Perhaps his father, Kevin Boggs was also waiting for something like Edward to cross his path.  
  
Two weeks had flown by, and Kim Walters' memorial service had been packed with people. Her coffin was a cherry oak with white lilies and pink roses gathered in a bouquet on the top. The people could have cried an ocean as Kim was lowered into the soft, sagging ground.  
  
Edward watched, hardly getting the energy to lift his head. He blamed himself for Kim's death. Hadn't he, literally, scared her to death? He felt like he deserved to die right along with her.  
  
He didn't socialize, and though the crowds did wonder who and what the specimen was, they mostly left him alone. He looked so interesting, with fancy clothes over the leather and buckled suit. The people who did talk to him were never answered—Edward never spoke back.   
  
Without Edward, the snow stopped. The snow had started to melt into a slushy, sloppy mush, and Suburbia was the bright, hot place it had been so many years ago. Flowers had started to grow again, trees were growing greener, grass was showing under the white snow, and the sun beat unmercifully down on the town.  
  
TV weather reporters were stunned, stumped, stupified. 

After being unmasked from the white veil of ice and snow, Suburbia looked like a pastel paradise. Houses were lined up one by one, square windows with butter-colored curtains, emerald green lawns, and grey driveways.  
  
The Walters' home was a robin's egg blue with a wood brown roof. There was a green lawn with patches of muddy snow dotted here and there. The dove-white walls, grayish-white carpeting, and colorful furniture were still there. Kim's home had hardly changed.  
  
Tears of mourning still reined in the Walters' residence, but a difficult and demanding issue had sprang up. It was in hard debate, truly.  
  
What was to be done about _him_?  
  
"I don't think it's safe," Molly whispered to Jillian, with her head shaking, "We're harboring a criminal..."  
  
"Yeah," Jillian returned, curtly, "A _dead_ criminal, Moll. Come on, Ed isn't any threat, obviously, besides, ya know, his hands." Aunt Jillian gave Edward a friendly look; "His completion is remarkable, isn't it? He's a true winter color, that's for sure."  
  
"Please, Jill, this is serious!" Molly's voice grew louder, "Don't tell me you're even _thinking _about keeping him! He's sweet, I know, he's very sweet, but—" Molly's voice hushed down to a raspy whisper, "He is, after all, a murderer, Jill."  
  
"I say it was self defence, Molly," Jake said as he butted into the conversation. "From what I've heard from my mother, Jim Higgins threatened to kill Edward. The Higgins boy had a gun, and he was drunk as a sailor, too. If I was in Edward's shoes, I would've done the same."  
  
Frank, since all the adults were now huddled together in the living room, decided to join in on the discussion. The children and Edward were completely left out of his elite meeting, and it was strictly for adults only.  
  
"But what will the neighbors think?"  
  
"Fry the neighbors! They don't have to know about him!"  
  
"So am I expected to keep him inside this house? Secretly?" Molly fumed, outraged, "Jake and I live in California! We have a house of our own. You and Frank live miles away, Jill. There's no way Kennedy could take care of him, he being in Florida and being as irresponsible as he is. Kevin's too old, and he's just as reckless as his son."  
  
"Kennedy is eccentric, Molly, not irresponsible." Jake said, contradictorily, "And my uncle isn't reckless. He's...just a bit of a mad scientist."  
  
"You can cover up for them as much as you like, Jake," Molly snapped, harshly, "The fact of the matter is that there is no way in this earth that they could take care of Edward's safety."  
  
"Are you saying we should put poor Edward back were he was?" Jillian said, appalled.  
  
Frank, who had always been the fair-minded sort, said: "We should have Edward in this discussion, guys. I think it's only fair, you know."  
  
"I agree." Said everyone in the group but Molly, who sulked a moment, but soon saw the wisdom in Frank's suggestion.  
  
They summoned Edward. The boy was such a sad thing to behold; his eyes were closed most of the time—as if he wanted to shut out the world and fall asleep forever. He was like a dilapidated house that had once been the prettiest, fanciest mansion human eyes had ever been blessed to see. He hardly uttered a word anymore.  
  
He clinked and clanked his way over to them. His head was still bent downwards, and his hair still covering his face.  
  
"Edward," said Jillian, sweetly, "We've been talking, honey, and—"  
  
A hammering knock banged at the door. The bell ringed numerous times, making quite a ruckus.  
  
"That must be Kevin!' Molly said, jumping up anxiously.  
  
As soon as the door was opened, Kennedy Boggs, a brown-haired, brown- eyed, tall, and mischievous man of twenty-something burst through the entrance. Kevin Boggs, a man of early sixties, followed behind with a similar glint of mischief, but Kim's death had sobered him up a bit. Kevin had grey-brown hair and a wrinkled face, but his eyes looked terribly boyish.  
  
Kevin and Kennedy gave their hellos to the family and they sat down. Kevin spread the papers over the kitchen table.  
  
Edward, when he first saw Kevin at the funeral, could hardly believe Kevin was the same person. Kevin had changed. When they had been introduced by Jillian during the memorial, Kevin had said:  
  
"You're that...thing!" Kevin had said to Edward, "You're that thing that tried to attack me when I was a kid..."  
  
"He was running when you were a kid? Damn. Edward certainly was built to last..." Kennedy chuckled, teasingly.  
  
"You shut up, boy." Kevin had snapped, as he looked Edward up and down. The father and son exchanged a glance that no one could quite understand, and they gazed at Edward's hands, amazed. They had something up their sleeve, and everyone was waiting for it.  
  
Edward peered into the kitchen, and then ducked his head back into the livingroom again. Since he was too shy to look, he would listen.  
  
"Okay," Kennedy's voice was loud and gripping, like a knife being sharpened, "We all remember who's got what in the will and testament, right?"  
  
There was no sound from the family, but Edward assumed they were all nodding their heads. Jake and Molly had inherited the house, Lucy and Bobby got money, books, and small keepsakes, Kennedy and Kevin had got her car, TV, and other electronics. Kim had even put Edward in her will—he was to get her pictures, drawings, and her old white dress.  
  
Those were the first material things Edward had ever treasured.  
  
"Good." Continued Kennedy, "Well, can you also recall the statement saying that we were to, I quote, 'take good, loving care of my dear Edward if he is ever told news of my death'?"  
  
"Where is this leading to, Ken?" Asked Jake, with great suspicion. He knew how sneaky his cousin was. Ken might be some sort of genius, but he was also a thief, a pretty good one at that.  
  
"Shut up and listen, Jake." Kevin said, calmly. "As you know, I was once the greatest machine technicians NASA ever clapped their eyes on. Ken works in the robotics lab now—"  
  
"And," Ken cut his father off, eagerly, "We have a few papers that we need signed. Nothing much, you know? Everyone in the technical and robotics lab is completely jazzed about the whole project I've thought of—They're all eager to get to work."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Edward. I'm talking about Edward." Kennedy said, his eyes crazed and half- wild, "I am going to finish him."  
  
()()()()()()()()


	6. Sixth Chapter

I don't own NASA or anything to do with NASA. Just to let you guys know :) In fact, I've been to NASA headquarters and they're really cool, but I'm just making them the "bad" guys in this story because....I feel like it.

I was thrilled to hear from '**Katie'** that she cried! That's so cool! Not that she cried, but that she was touched by my writing! Thank you, you really helped me creatively with this chapter. Again, thank you for saying that my story is 'beautifully written'.

**Daniel—**Please, bear with me here. I have an evil computer. I have been fighting a war with it for weeks, and I am definitely losing.

()()()()()()()()  
  
Not Even Human—Chapter Six

()()()()()()() 

**Silence** haunted the Walters' home. Not even the washing machine dared to guzzle and grumble downstairs.

Lucy and Bobby, who had been eves dropping from the livingroom, had their mouths open in surprise. Edward, who was standing next to the two children, looked confused, and he tried to let the things Kennedy said sink in.

"Wait a minute," Jake breathed, not believing a thing his cousin just said. "What do you mean exactly by...finishing him?"

"My God." Kevin snapped, nastily, "Are you blind? The boy's got scissors for hands."

"Yeah, but Edward couldn't be—"

"Edward, get in here." Kevin commanded, sternly. "Don't you think you're fooling anybody. I know you're listening in."

Edward stiffened, nervously, and his hands twitched more than ever. Edward, to be frank, was afraid of Kevin; there was something menacing about Kevin now that hadn't been there when he was a boy. An unpolished, impure gleam now spurted from Kevin's brown eyes, and it made Edward's stomach shrink with terror.

Kevin whacked his black cane on the floor, impatiently.

Lucy gave Edward a small nod and pushed him forward, encouraging him to obey Old Kevin. Bobby mouthed "Go. Go!" frantically, as if life itself depended on it.

Edward stepped out of the doorway, awkwardly. He saw the adults circled around the table, their eyes hooked onto him. Aunt Jill was biting her bubble gum pink lip.

"And how long will this take?" Jill asked.

"Not long." Was the short, sharp response from Kennedy.

Kevin told Edward to come closer to the table. Edward felt his heart ticking—that's right, ticking. Not thumping or beating, like most people's heart would go, but ticking like a grandfather clock. And it ticked wildly as Edward Scissorhands obediently walked up to the wooden kitchen table.

"How're we going to get him on an airplane? The metal detector is going to go nuts." Kennedy asked his father, quietly.

Kevin ignored his son completely.

"You want hands, don't you, Edward?" Kevin asked, loudly, as he looked Edward straight in the eye.

Edward's mind went numb from the very thought of it. He tried to steady himself by breathing deeply and keeping good posture. He felt his razor hands shiver and his dry mouth try to form words. He nodded his head, eagerly.

"And you are going to sign these papers willingly and wholly aware that anything that may happen to you in the damaging or deathly nature is not a liable excuse to sue NASA?" Kevin said.

"Yes." Edward said, his voice in awe.

"Then sign this," Kennedy said, and he slid the papers over to Edward.

A pen was placed infront of him and the thin line where his name was to be signed remained empty.

"He can't do it," Jillian said, abruptly, and then she gasped, "Oh, my! The poor boy!"

"For God's sake, get over yourself, Jill." Kevin growled toward the woman, hatefully.

Edward stood there quite bewildered, but a sudden shock of determination zapped though him and he carefully picked up the pen with two of his blades. It slipped. He tried again. It slipped and cracked open, letting ink drip over the scissor-blades.

"Poor boy! Oh, poor dear!" Jill sighed as she put her hand over her mouth.

Edward had an idea.

Edward carefully let his ink-covered silvery razors come near the paper. It would be easy just to write with his scissors, if he was gentle enough not to cut the paper.

He started, very slowly.

All the while, the family was staring at him, astonished. All were too amazed to try and help him.

E...D...

Edward wrote carefully, artistically as his father had once done. He had seen other people write his name for him, and why couldn't he? It wasn't that hard...

W...A...R...D

Edward stopped, letting the blue ink dry on the paper. He blew on it, to quicken the process.

S...C...I...S...S...O...R...H...A...N...D...S

That took him much struggle and time to finish, but he did it, nonetheless. Edward dotted the 'I' and ended with the 'S' having a nicely drawn curl. He shook some of the ink out of his blades, and stepped back, admiring his work.

Edward Scissorhands looked at the family, smiled politely, and left the room.

()()()()()()()()()

A high of emotion and action sparkled in the Walters' home the next few weeks. Bags were packed, cell phone calls were made, e-mails mailed, letters posted, tickets were bought, and a flow of news interviewers had flooded the front lawn.

"How does the idea of surgery effect you? What are you thinking? Are you nervous about the trial after your surgery? Did you or did you not kill Jim Higgins? What're your statements? How long have you been non-social? Are you Republican or Democrat?"

The constant stream of questions made Edward's thoughts get tangled and twisted. He wanted the TV reporters just to give it a rest and go away. He had enough on his mind; the trial that was scheduled after his surgery.

A stiff, terrible fear filled up his heart, and he felt sick just thinking about what would happen to him. They wouldn't say he was innocent, because he wasn't, and Edward knew it. He had made Jim spurt out that red stuff, go pale, and fall out the window. He had broken Jim. Edward knew he did something bad, but he didn't feel sorry for Jim—not really, because Jim had hit Kim and pushed her, slapped her...Edward became upset just thinking about what Jim had done.

Edward would never have hurt Kim. Not on purpose, not like Jim had done.

At last, the day came for him to go to the airport. His hands hand been wrapped up in cloth again, and he was dressed as normally as he could be. Kennedy and Kevin had given him a cold, stale friendship, and Edward trusted them, despite their dark looks and snappy comments.

Lucy had kissed Edward on the cheek, and told him to be very careful not to eat the food on the airplane. Bobby had waved good bye, as did the rest of the children of the block. Jill told him to keep her astringent and face powder. Jake and Frank looked impassive, mostly. Molly was especially concerned for Edward, for she didn't trust Ken or Kevin in the slightest.

The day was hot, although it was only a week away from Christmas Day. It might as well have been summer in Suburbia the way people were going about in swimsuits, swimming, and tanning out in their front lawns.

As they drove off, the children from the block, the interviewers, and Lucy chased the car out of the block.

"Bye, bye, Eddie!" Lucy shouted, waving her little hand.

()()()()()()()

The flight had been fair enough, despite the turbulence, the stares from the passengers, the winks from the lady flight attendants, and the disgusting, hideous food.

He had thought of Kim, and if she was up in the clouds. He had heard people talk about her being in Heaven. He wasn't too sure on what that place was, but he had heard it was above. He wished Kim was with him.

Too many people were crammed together in an airplane and it made him terribly nervous.

The girl flight attendants had eyed Edward up and down, and they giggled, and flipped their hair. It was strange, really, really strange—and Edward had felt a hollow sort of confusion in his stomach. He thought of Joyce again.

()()()()()()()

The headquarters was a gleaming, glowing blue building. But Edward couldn't gawk at it, because a crowd of people with signs and microphones pushed themselves up to the car.

"Damn!" Kevin shouted, banging his cane on the car's floor, "Protesters! Lord Almighty, when do they ever stop? It seems like every goddamn project we do, they've got some problem with it! "

Edward sunk in his seat, seeing the screaming people out of the car's tainted windows. They looked angry, dead angry, like a colony of bees disturbed from their hive.

"Go to the entrance anyway!" Kennedy instructed the driver, "I don't give a toss if we actually _do_ run one of them over!"

In a flash, they were at the entrance, and Kennedy pushed Edward out of the car. A few bodyguards came into the scene and paved a way for them to get past the screaming, fuming, and pushing crowd.

The cloth on one of Edward's hands ripped, and as he was being forced through the mob, he accidentally cut the face of one of the shouting protestors. The wounded man fell backwards, his hands covering his bloody cheek. It was only a scratch.

"I'm sorry!" Edward apologized, worriedly, as he was being pulled away from the bloody protestor.

At first people gasped, then silence, and then they started to shout and scream even louder than before.

A girl barged out from the protestors. She had curly, frizzy brown hair, unforgiving grey eyes, and a sharp red mouth. Her voice was a bit lazy, but also solemn, serious, and darkly humorous—like a church organ. She was red-faced and her voice was raspy from screaming.

"It's a deformation of life!" The girl shouted in Kennedy's face, "And it must be put to death. Now!"

"You idiot." Ken said, shoving her aside, forcefully, "Edward is a scientific breakthrough!"

Edward looked at Kennedy, stunned. The girl was loud, scary, and a bit mean-spirited, but that was no excuse for treating her in such an ungentlemanly way. He was beginning not to like Kennedy very much.

"I am not a idiot and I don't wish to be called one." Snapped the girl, angrily, "You're only doing this because when it's over with—you're career will skyrocket. You're already in hot water with the government, Dr. Boggs. You've supported branches that pollute water, prevent medicine going to foreign countries, among other things!"

"If you and the rest of your nutty religious friends don't get off our property in half an hour," Kennedy threatened, snarling, "I'll call the police."

Edward turned toward the girl, but she growled and retreated back, "Don't come near me." She said, furiously.

"I don't—"Edward began, politely, but Kennedy pushed him forward through the crowd, forcefully.

They finally got into the building and the doors were closed shut. It was a cool contrast from the hot outdoors and the noisy protestors. Everything looked polished and white, like a wedding cake.

"Okay," Ken hissed in Edward's ear, as he pulled him inside the office, "Rule number one, Edward. Never, and I mean never, look, talk, or reason with these lunatics. That is, unless you're threatening them, okay?"

Edward frowned. His father had taught him to be agreeable to people, even if they were disagreeable to him.

"Was she telling the truth?" Edward asked, still frowning.

"What?" Ken snapped, annoyed, as he continued to push Edward down to the office lounge.

"That girl...about the medicine and water."

"No." Kennedy lied, but he was good at lying, "She's just one of the many demented losers out there, Edward. Get used to it."

Edward frowned even harder. He was starting to have a strong dislike for Kennedy.

()()()()()()()()()

Edward was laying one his back, squinting his eyes from the blazing, smoldering light shining down on him. His arms were bolted to the operation table, as were his legs, and a sort of metal collar was locked tightly around his neck. Sharp, pricking needles were pushed into his face, making his skin go numb. A small table of knives, needles, scissors, bottles, and hooks was next to him. The tools glinted at him, menacingly.

He was utterly terrified.

It was bad enough that a group of surgeons were poking and prodding him, but also a looming dome-shaped window was above him. Edward's surgery was going to be watched by students at the local medical school.

Kevin was lecturing the surgeons on how to handle Edward's mechanics.

Edward was almost frantic, and he closed his eyes to block out the scary pins, the razor knives, the blinding light, and the clear needles. His mind was the only escape from the monstrous ordeal. His heart was ticking feverishly, now.

The lecture for the surgeons ended, the medical students started clapping, and the surgeons came around Edward. They were wearing white masks, rubber gloves, and sickly pale blue clothes.

"Now don't you worry, Edward." Kevin said, with a devilish, crazy smirk on his wrinkled face. "You're in good hands."

"Good hands?" Edward asked, frightened.

"That's right."

Kevin Boggs reached to the back of Edward's head, and flicked something. Edward panicked for a moment, but as he breathed more frantically, he grew more and more tired. He felt like he had spun around in a circle too long, and now he was drunkenly dizzy. He eventually shut his eyes and felt the world slip into a liquorice black dream.

()()()()()()

Please forgive me (again) for being so late with this chapter! I feel horrible for not updating, will you ever forgive me, guys?

I LOVE YOU ALL, MY DARLINGS!


	7. Seventh Chapter

Author's note: I understand that the surgery in this chapter is a bit, um, make-believe-ish. A real surgery, as we all should know, would never be done like this. But, remember this is a fable---you can only partially have reality in it.

I really, really felt terrible for neglecting you guys so much—so I added another chapter for this week! I hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

Not Even Human—Chapter Seven

* * *

**Kennedy** Boggs hovered over the patient, his pearly white teeth grinning out of his mouth. He had worked with machines, but never done a surgery. That was the tricky thing about this patient, he was half man and half machine. A team of surgeons had been called in to deal with the human half, and Kennedy and his technician team would deal with the machine half.

Kennedy would have done anything to have met Edward's inventor. He must have been a genius.

"Has he been turned off?" Kennedy asked the head surgeon. The head surgeon nodded.

"Get your people to disconnect his arms—be careful not to break any of the internal wires. That's right—yeah, that's it. No! No! Disconnect from his shoulder! Okay, that's better. Remember those internal wires..."

After a difficult time ripping and tearing, the surgeons sliced the leather on Edward's arm open, revealing a soft mass of white plastic underneath. They did the same on the other arm, and they discovered the same snow-white material.

Snap. Crack! One arm was broken off, making a thin flow of blood trickle out. It was easily clogged up. They plucked out the internal wires, carefully. The arm—scissors and all—was taken to be worked on separately.

Snap. Crack! The other arm was taken off, and carried off.

Above the surgery, in the glass dome—the medical students gasped and gawked, while feverishly scribbling down notes. Kevin Boggs continued to lecture on what the surgeons were doing.

Kennedy Boggs frowned as he reviewed the x-ray sheet. It showed that Edward had a fracture on his hip—bent metal bones. That would have to be fixed.

Besides that, everything was going well. This was going to put him in the history books.

* * *

Edward felt a sharp, piercing pain in his shoulder. It stung like a bee, and then burned as if a fire was on his arm. Then his other arm began to throb violently. It was like a snake's venom and it flowed through his veins.

Edward was afraid, and he wanted to wake up.

The darkness enveloped, and he was stuck in it, as though he were a fly trapped in a spider's soft web. No matter how much he struggled to lift his eyelids, they stayed closed, and Edward was forced to stay in the coal black dream.

A red-hot poke came from his hip. Edward shuddered, feeling the pain slide down his body. Jim had bent that hip with an iron pole. The injury felt like it got worse—and that sizzling acidic-like pain creeped in Edward.

Afterwards, a wave of cool air rushed over him, and he felt the pain in his arms and hip start to fizzle into nothing. The comforting breeze swooped over his chest and he felt his throat tighten and then relax. It was as if he was melting, and he liked it very much. It was as if he weighted not one single ounce... Edward's heart slowed into a lethargic tick-tock.

The colorful fluids—drugs, the doctors had called them—had kicked in, full swing. Edward felt another searing poke in his chest and it grew; but Edward didn't seem to notice it, and he stayed in his still, silent peace.

* * *

"Well, no wonder...here's the problem, Boggs." A surgeon commented, with an amazed chuckle.

The man held out something round in his pale rubber glove. The round object spurted out a cloudy red mist, and it made a sharp jingle, like broken glass.

The surgeons leaned towards it to get a better look, and then they jumped back, gasping in surprise. The student's confused murmur buzzed above, and Kevin Boggs stood dumbstruck, his mouth open.

"It's a broken heart...I'll be damned." The surgeon said, as his hand continued to hold the heart.

"Will you look at that!" Kennedy Boggs said, staking a step closer. "Holy Jesus."

Edward's chest was stripped of the black, buckled leather, and a white, uncovered plastic surface was in its place. A part of his chest was cut open, showing metal, wires, and iron springs underneath. A gap was were the heart had been scooped out.

"Okay, get Bess in here. We need—" The head surgeon commanded, making the whole room become unorganized and bustled.

The surgeons quickly replaced the plastic red heart with a fresh, metal one. After they connected the fake blood back to the heart; they relaxed.

The machine's legs had been taken off, along with the arms, because they had decided it would be easier just to break up Edward into tiny, manageable pieces. They were taking him apart like a stack of Legoes.

Things were going fine, until Edward woke up.

At first, Edward's eyelids only fluttered a bit, then big blinks, and soon Edward's glass eyes were wide open. Someone had switched him back on, either that or he hadn't been given enough sedatives. No matter what the cause, Edward was awake and sober as a lawyer.

His black eyes looked around, and suddenly, Edward felt a strong wave of gnawing pain come from every particle in his body, and he gasped, in shock.

People started to yell and shout. In a swirl of blue clothes, white masks, and grey knives they all scrambled about to switch Edward off again.

"Oh my Lord!" screamed an assistant, "He's awake!"

The crowd of medical students above them started to mutter, fearfully.

Edward really only panicked when he saw his arms and legs cut off. Just his torso remained. He could see a bright white plastic thing cover his body, where his old leather suit used to be.

Edward's eyes widened in horror.

"Turn it off! Switch him off!" A doctor shouted, madly.

The room turned to utter pandemonium.

Kennedy Boggs, despite the chaos, grabbed Edward by the head and switched him off, forcefully.

* * *

After that, Edward could only see a bitter black world. A freezing cold sensation went all over him, stiffening his skin.

He hadn't woken up for an eternity, or, at least, that's what it felt like.

Edward fondly remembered when his father told him that story about a lady who had gone to sleep and never woke up—she only woke up until a prince had kissed her. He hoped no princes would have to kiss him to solve this dilemma. He wouldn't mind if Kim kissed him again, though.

Memories didn't make him so lonely. Edward thought of Peg Boggs. She had been so kind and loving to him, almost as if he were her own son. He wasn't really sure what a mother was—Kevin had explained it to him once—but Edward felt that she came close to being his mother. Edward missed Peg, too.

He would remember and dig up memories, until he had pretty much unearthed everything and anything he had buried in his mind. Now, just when Edward was starting to adapt to the shadowy world, he was unmercifully brought out of it.

"Up and about, Edward..."

Automatically, Edward's eyelids burst open. A pure white light flooded his delicate eyes, and they felt like they'd shrivel up from the pounding light.

Edward panted and wheezed, as he was being ripped away from his safe, dark sleep.

His eyes blurred, then cleared. Blurred, clear. Blurred, clear. His head throbbed with burning pain, and he felt life surge though himself again.

"C'mon!" said someone, desperately, "C'mon. C'mon. Don't crash on me again..."

Edward's vision split, then came together, then split again.

Kennedy Boggs stood next to Edward, but he looked very fuzzy, like he was made out of cotton balls. Edward blinked, and Ken wasn't so fuzzy.

Kennedy grinned, insanely, and he started to laugh.

"Ah, ha!" Kennedy shouted, victoriously, as he punched the air, "I knew it! I knew it! Ha! Ha!"

"K-Kennedy?" Edward said. His brain gave a sharp pang when he moved his jaw.

"Ah, good. His vocal wires are working...Good, good..."

"Where am I?" Edward asked, frightened, "What happened?"

"Can you heard me, Ed?" Kennedy asked, oblivious, "How're your ears? Can you see my hand go up and down? What color is my hair?"

Edward frowned. He never liked Kennedy all that much.

"Look, I know you're probably lost on what's going on, but hang with me here, okay? Are your ears good, Ed?"

"Yes."

"What color is my hair, and can you see my hand go up and down?"

"B-brown..." Edward said, quietly, "... yes."

Kennedy's crazy grin grew so that his white teeth almost stretched from ear to ear. The man rubbed his hands together, in anticipation.

Edward looked at the new surroundings. It was a small, bright laboratory with multicolored wires swaying to and fro from the metal shelves. A green and grey old-fashioned TV was wedged in the clutter. A mountain of shining tools was heaped on the tables, and sketches and diagrams of the human body were taped onto the concrete walls. A full-length mirror was in the corner, serving very little purpose.

The glass dome was gone, but a low tiled ceiling was there instead. There were no surgeons or medical students looking down at him.

"Where am I?" Edward said, confused.

"My lab." Kennedy snapped, happily.

Edward looked around again, while getting more confused. "...But how did--?"

"To make a long story short, Edward..." Kennedy Boggs grumbled, "Something that was supposed to take three weeks, took three years..."

"...I don't understand..."

"Okay, you want the long story... During surgery, you woke up at the wrong time, after that...we had some faults. NASA got pissed and they pulled funding—idiots—Anyway...they wanted to put you into some sort of god-awful museum in Tokyo, but someone ended up stealing you." Kennedy smiled, "Let's just say I have connections."

"You--?"

"I moved you and your legs and arms over to my lab, and kept you here, illegally. I stole parts from my job. Yeah, anyway, they became suspicious of me, and I ended up getting fired. I had to buy materials off the black market."

Edward looked at Kennedy, bewildered.

Kennedy seemed to be lost in thought, "So...yeah. I guess I finished you. You get what you want, and I get nothing. Kinda ironic, when you think about it."

"Finished!" Edward said loudly, but then it changed to a whisper, "...Finished?"

"Sure. You're finished." Kennedy muttered.

Kennedy had a sort of resentment towards Edward, but not as strong as the hatred Jim had had for the machine boy. You see, Kennedy had lost his life to finish what he called "The challenge of all challenges." Ken had lost his girlfriend—or girlfriends—his house, his two dogs, his job, his nice car, and most of his money.

Edward was still lying on his back. The table was cold and uncomfortable on his back; he tried, but he couldn't see his hands while lying down. Edward was far too tired to lift his arms.

Kennedy offered to help Edward up.

"Yes, please."

Edward's second inventor helped him up so that he was sitting upright. Edward didn't have his heavy leather suit on anymore—just a white, fleshy veneer over his metal chest. His arms were covered with waxy plastic, too. He was wearing some rolled-up jeans but, as Edward could see, his legs now had colorless material on them.

Edward had felt unusually free and light, and now he knew why. He had skin.

The boy looked and he expected to see shining, grey, razor-sharp knives—instead his eyes met two thin, smooth hands. He opened his mouth and gasped, like a child opening gifts at Christmas.

Edward's heart skipped a few beats. He felt lightheaded, like he just drank a whole bottle of lemonade.

He brought the hands closer and looked at them, tenderly. They were white and graceful, not silvery and sharp. He was so incredibly happy, he thought he'd cry if he could.

Kennedy Boggs smiled, feeling rather accomplished, and he decided to bring his large mirror to Edward. Ken helped Edward, who was still looking lovingly at his new hands, and put him on his feet.

Edward peeled his eyes off his glorious hands, and became even more surprised at the reflection.

"That's me?"

Edward's eyes widened, and he looked at himself, curiously, as if he were looking at a stranger. His skin was very, very pale and face's pink scars had healed, leaving a smooth surface. Edward noticed something strange about his forehead.

"W-What's..." Edward said, quietly, as he looked at himself. "What're those two things above my eyes?"

"Huh?" Kennedy said, stupidly, "Oh. Those are eyebrows. I implanted those, you just had skin there before."

Eyebrows...They, as Kennedy explained, didn't do anything important, but they were what every other human had. Edward nodded and he bent closer to his ghost-pale reflection, and he looked it up and down many times.

"Here," Kennedy said, as he yanked Edward's new hands up to Edward's face.

Edward jumped back, frightened, and he drew his face away from the hands.

"You're not going to hurt yourself!" Kennedy said, impatiently, as he pulled Edward's hand to Edward's face again.

Edward's hand touched Edward's face. The poor boy gave a small whimper, and he expected blood to drip down his face. But Edward only felt his hand's silky skin brush against his face.

"See? Nothing to be worried about..."

Edward's hand stayed glued onto his face. He didn't want to take it away. Edward took his other hand and touched his plastic black hair with it—his hair felt stiff and starchy, not like Kim's soft golden hair. He touched his nose, feeling the hard angles of it, he touched his new eyebrows, he felt his closed eyelids, his lips, and his chin.

Edward still had the bad habit of twitching his scissors---fingers, that is---like he were cutting a piece of invisible paper. He also kept his arms a good distance away from his sides. These bad habits would be dealt with later, Kennedy thought.

"Try and pick this up," Kennedy said, putting a book infront of Edward.

Edward tried, but he couldn't get the right grip on it. He just expected it to stick to his hand. He tried many times, but he just couldn't do it. Edward actually felt like he had more of a disability than ever.

"Hummm. That's okay, Ed, we'll work on that later." Kennedy said, musing.

"I'm sorry."

"What for? Hell, you're doing better than I thought you would." Kennedy said, as he walked across the room, and got something out of a bag, "Put this on, Ed, and I'll see if I have any extra shoes."

Edward slid on the grey sweater he was given and put on some of Kennedy's shoes, though Kennedy had to tie them. Wearing shoes was very strange, like putting your feet in little houses, and Edward, on the whole, found it very interesting.

Kennedy squinted his eyes, critically, "We're going to have to brush your hair. It's a friggin mess, no offence meant, of course, but it is. And keep your arms to your side, Ed! You don't have razor blades for hands anymore, okay?"

Edward gingerly put his hands to his sides, and made himself keep them there.

"And stop twitching your fingers. People will think you're a freak." Kennedy said, as he looked for his hairbrush, "Where did I put that damn thing? Oh, here it is."

* * *

Edward had to promise never to tell anyone what Kennedy had done—except, of course, the Walters and the Boggs, who would have to know someday—He could never tell about the black market, the stealing materials, or even stealing himself. The whole thing must be a secret, or Ken would be arrested.

Then, something hit Edward. Now that he was dead (again), in a sense, he didn't have to go to trial, be interviewed, killed, or protested against anymore. He had a clean slate; he was a new man, if you will.

Kennedy Boggs decided that the boy should be called Edward Hands, and so it was. Edward Scissorhands, a mechanical, razor- bladed "perversion of nature" was now Edward Hands, a shy long-lost distant cousin who lived in Canada.

Kennedy had fabricated a whole story about Edward's life, and Kennedy was such a convincing liar; Edward himself was starting to believe that he really was a long-lost Canadian cousin.

"That about covers it, I guess." Kennedy said, "All I have to do is get airplane tickets."

Edward gave Kennedy a confused look.

"I'm not staying here if you paid me." Kennedy said angrily, "The State of Florida's a bitch and I'm not staying another second in this lab. Don't worry, Ed, I'm taking you back to Suburbia to live with family. Don't be alarmed if they think you're a ghost, Edward. For all they know, you're pushing up daisies somewhere in Tokyo. "

Ken told Edward that the Walters had, for money reasons, moved to Kim's house in Suburbia. After explaining, Kennedy started picking up some clothes, papers, books, and money and stuffing them in a suitcase.

Edward shifted uncomfortably in his itchy sweater; he wasn't used to skin.

* * *

A girl, about eleven years old, with choppy chocolate-brown hair opened the door. Her face glowed when she saw Kennedy.

"Kenny!" The girl cried, happily, "Wow! I haven't seen you in so long!"

"Hey, Lucy! Long time, no see," Kennedy said, grinning, as Lucy opened the door wider.

"Mom and Dad have been trying to get a hold of you for...years, actually." Lucy said. Her voice was slightly different, it wasn't deep, it wasn't high—it was just different. "We all thought you were dead or something, Kenny."

"Nope. I'm alive and kicking, Lucy Lou." Kennedy said, happily. Lucy smiled when she heard Kenny's nickname for her, 'Lucy Lou'.

'_That's not Lucy..._' Edward thought, as he felt his eyes widen, _'She's not Lucy. She's another Lucy.' _

"So, what's up, kiddo?" Kennedy said, casually.

"Oh, not much." Lucy said, with a sigh, "Usual stuff, you know. I'm in sixth grade now—though Bobby's in high school. He's changed a lot, just to let you know—became really tall."

"Bobby still swearing?" Kenny asked, jokingly.

Lucy scowled, "Yes. He still swears. It gets annoying. But, Kenny, where have you been? We were really worried about you! Your dad has even gone off to a old folks home!"

Kennedy Boggs shrugged, "I've been busy."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, but she politely smiled, nonetheless. She knew something was amiss.

"I've got someone to show you," Kennedy said, gleefully.

Lucy Walters peered curiously behind Kennedy. Edward's eyes sunk down to his shoes, confused. The person peering at him was an eleven-year-old—not the small eight-year-old girl Edward had known.

Lucy gasped, and she took a step backward. She looked horrified.

"Lucy, don't worry, okay?" Kennedy said, "He's not dead."

The girl's eyes rolled into her head and she fainted.

* * *

Hugs and kisses to all of my reviewers! Love ya.


	8. Eighth Chapter

* * *

Not Even Human—Chapter Eight

* * *

"**Oh**, Jesus!" Bobby shouted, as he saw his sister unconscious.

Bobby Walters was nothing like what he used to be. He was only a few inches shorter than Edward now. His face was red and spotty and it was not the childish round shape it used to be, but was longer and more detailed. His voice was deeper and thicker; compared to the squeaky, boyish voice he used to have.

He was fourteen and a half now.

Bobby's face went a beautiful shade of ivory white when he saw Lucy on the ground. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' shape. He stared in confusion at the two unfamiliar men infront of him.

"I—" For once in Bobby's life, he couldn't think of one single blasphemy to say.

"She's okay, Bobby," Kennedy said, fanning the little girl, "And nice to see you too—Do you know where the smelling salts are?"

"Ken? Is that you?" Bobby the teenager exclaimed, very surprised. "Where have you been, man?"

Kennedy started rummaging through the kitchen, and he answered that he had "been around". Ken Boggs demanded to know where the smelling salts were. Bobby ignored Kennedy and focussed his attention on the stranger in the grey sweater.

"Who's this guy?" Bobby asked Kennedy, giving Edward a suspicious glare.

"Ask him yourself!" Kennedy shouted out, annoyedly, "Show some class!... Where are the damn smelling salts?"

Once again, Kennedy was ignored.

"Help me get her on the couch." Bobby said to Edward, more of a command than a request.

Edward stared. It was hard not to be a little shocked on how much Bobby Walters had grown in three years. There was not one trace of the little boy left, it had been washed away by a new, slender young man.

"Who are you anyway?" Bobby said, frowning at the stranger.

Edward couldn't find the courage to answer. It was silent for a long time.

"Okay. Never mind, then," The fourteen-year-old said, lifting his eyebrows.

By some divine miracle, Kennedy was able to find the smelling salts in a completely foreign kitchen. How he did it, we will never know. Kennedy came running out of the kitchen, smelling salts at hand, and began to wake Lucy up. The three of them gathered around the little eleven-year-old girl.

Lucy Walters sneezed, loudly, and she thus was awake as a night owl.

"Edward?" Lucy recognized him instantly. "E-Edward?"

Edward smiled a little but his eyes betrayed him; he was shocked.

"I—" Lucy's head wobbled a bit, as if she was going to faint again, "I thought you died in surgery! It was all over the news!" Lucy stared at Edward's hands, "And you have hands? But—we thought—and Kenny was almost put in jail---."

Bobby sat, his mouth gaping open again, and he frowned at Edward. "That's Edmund?"

"Edward, Bobby, Edward." Lucy corrected, strictly.

"It's all the same thing..." Bobby dismissed, casually, as stared at Edward. He was a bit disappointed that Scissorhands no longer had scissors for hands. The razors had been awesome.

"All along I though you were sent off to Tokyo and not given a proper funeral!" Lucy said, still scandalized by the idea.

* * *

"You said it would be a short time!" Molly said, rather upset by seeing the dead come alive again.

"Never ask a scientist about time, Molly! To us, a thousand years is nothing at all!" Kennedy returned, nastily.

"You could have told us Edward was alive!" A slightly older Molly shouted, outraged, "To save us all the anxiety! Oh, I should've known...This—this is just like you, Ken!"

"Tell you?" Kennedy said, coolly, "The phone could've been bugged! And I finished Edward, didn't I? Aren't you happy with that, at least?"

"No. You shouldn't have finished Edward at all." Molly said, firmly, "You've broken the law, and put Edward, your family, and yourself in danger—can't you see that?"

"Are you serious?" Ken said, "We're the farthest thing from in danger! Edward's technically deceased, and I might as well be dead too! Death is safety, honey!"

Molly shook her head, disapprovingly, and she rubbed her temples, soothing a headache bubbling inside her head.

"I don't get any appreciation, do I?" Kennedy grunted.

Edward, Bobby, and Lucy stood in the background, alarmed, as they watched the two adults quarrel. They gave each other tense glances. They watched.

"I refuse to—!"

"Please, please can we keep him, Mom!" Lucy burst out, pleadingly, as she ran over to her mother, "Edward's no trouble. I know Dad wouldn't mind Edward being here. You wouldn't even know he was here, Mom."

"No." The Mother said, sternly.

"Lucy's got a good point." Ken added, "She could help Edward adjust to his new hands. Simple tasks like picking up objects, writing, turing pages, not fidgeting, opening doors, driving a car—"

"Driving a car? Lucy's only eleven!" Molly snapped, with her arms crossed.

"Right. _I'll_ teach him how to do that then." Ken said, sheepishly.

Molly Walters sighed while rubbing her eyes, exhausted. "You got yourself into this mess, Kennedy Boggs. You're twenty-seven, Ken, you're a big boy now—"

A cheery, chiming doorbell rang in the front door, and a few muffled voices laughed and chattered behind the pastel green door. Molly gasped and her eyes widened to the size of oranges. She had forgotten Jill and Frank were coming over for dinner tonight.

Another jolly ring came from the door. The voices became louder, and the guests were rap-tap-tapping on the door, impatiently.

* * *

Edward learned one thing about families: They quarrel—and when they quarrel, they fight with every atom, every particle in their mind, body, and soul.

Now, Frank had been pretty okay with Edward being alive, in fact, he hardly showed any shock or nausea—just a simple, confused smile. But, Aunt Jill's reaction was the precise opposite of her husband's. Jill had screamed so loud that the neighbors all stuck their heads over the Walters' garden fence. Jill had to be given cold water and aspirin before she even came close to cooling down.

Jake Walters had come home also, and he looked a little concerned about the whole affair—but he wasn't really shocked, in the sense of the word.

Of course, the family turned on Kennedy.

"Ken, I'm disappointed in you..." Jake Walters shook his head, "I know you meant well but you really put a huge burden on your family."

"Edward's not a burden, Dad." Lucy grumbled, at Edward's defence.

"And you never contacted us, Ken," Jake continued, his voice softly scolding his cousin.

"I mean..." Aunt Jill spoke, her voice worn-out and ragged from screaming, "I'm very glad Edward's back home with us, Ken. But, honey, you could have given us a clue, you know?"

"I swear to God, I won't help him." Molly said, frustrated.

"Oh, Molly!" Jillian gasped, horrified at Molly, "You don't mean that, dear! Think of poor Edward! We can't leave that sweet, innocent lamb all by himself in the world. I'll keep Edward myself! I'd be happy to do it, actually!"

"No, no, no, no...We don't need to do that." Jake said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Maybe we do," Molly said, arguing.

"Maybe we don't!" Kennedy growled back, hatred in his brown eyes.

"Be quiet, Kennedy!" Molly Walters hissed threateningly, like an angry cat.

"Be quiet yourself!" Kennedy snapped back, venomously, "Don't you dare tell me what to do!"

"Oh, you're fighting like a bunch of kids!" Aunt Jill said, as she began to set the table, "Just how about we don't talk to each other?"

Well, this no talking rule did not last long, and the whole dinner ended up being unpleasant. Molly and Kennedy would shout at each other, making offensive remarks on the draw. Jake and Jillian continued to scold Kennedy. Lucy was instructing a saddened and slightly discouraged Edward how to pick up a spoon. Bobby had, quite wisely, left the table to go to his friend's house. Frank just ate the mash potatoes, silently trying to enjoy his dinner.

"Okay! That's it!" Molly said, standing up and drawing all the attention, "Edward can stay with us as our Canadian cousin...but Kennedy will have to find a house for himself. There's no way on this earth I'm putting up with him on a daily basis."

Lucy grinned, showing her new braces, and beamed up at Edward, joyfully. Lucy Walters gave her mother a thankful nod and the little girl kept the smile stitched onto her rosy face.

Edward smiled back, tiredly.

"I'll take Ken in." Aunt Jillian offered, kindly, "He can help at the salon and earn his keep."

"Sounds good." Said Frank, hoping—praying—that the fight was finished and all would be peaceful again.

* * *

"Hesitation—sixty-four—no repeats, or hesitations—I go first, you go last---"

Lucy's girlish voice spoke fast, and her hands moved even faster. Edward tried his hardest to keep up with the little girl in this game, but she was as speedy as lightning. He was still working on how to open doors, pick up books, and not twitch his fingers.

He had adapted to writing with a pencil rather extraordinarily, but he struggled with the simple things. Once Lucy had tried to get him to cut a piece of paper with hand-held scissors, but Edward refused to go near them. He never wanted to see scissors again.

Aunt Jill would do dozens of makeovers on Edward—as she was deathly determined to get rid of his pale skin and blue lips. She had tamed Edward's tangled black hair, and he looked...normal. That's the thing, no one stared at him in the street, told their children to avoid him, laughed at him, scolded him, snapped at him. He didn't exist. No one cared about him anymore, and Edward savored every moment of it. He loved being normal.

He had learned to eat with utensils, thanks to the strict supervision of Lucy. He made the rest of the family look like barbarians, as he skillfully exercised his table etiquette.

When Lucy was away at school and the rest of the family was busy, Edward would sneak out of the house and walk around the block. Fresh air funneled into his nostrils as he curiously observed the people. They were interesting; always mowing the lawn, waxing the car, washing the dog, going to soccer games, and watching TV. Some even smiled and waved to Edward.

The air smelled like grilled meat. Barbecue.

Kids were playing football in the park, tumbling and tripping over each other. Pastel houses lined up adjacent to each other, making a nice line of soft colors. Roses, bushes, and trees swayed in the gentle wind. Edward almost raised his hand to snip off a bush's stray twig, but he stopped, realizing he had hands.

Edward would walk through grass, gravel, and pavement all the way back to the Walters' home. He loved his walks through Suburbia.

* * *

Now, surprisingly, Edward won the approval of Molly Walters by learning how to cook for her. He had promised himself never to make Molly angry, because he knew she would scream at him like she had screamed at Kennedy.

But Molly Walters turned out to be as lovey-dovey as Aunt Jill, Edward discovered. All you had to do was be polite and obedient, and she liked you immediately.

"Oh, Edward, you're so adorable I think I could just eat you up." Molly would say to him whenever he did something slightly creative.

"Eat...me up?" Edward asked, startled and disgusted.

"Not literally, dear."

"It's a figure of speech?" He asked, remembering what Bill Boggs had told him years ago.

"Yes, dear."

Edward nodded his head, snapped the stiff pasta into two, and let it drop into the boiling hot water. Steam floated up from the pan, warmed the kitchen, and made it smell of spices.

* * *

__

__

__

_For Edward _

The cardboard box was titled, in green cursive. Kim's cursive. Edward had seen her writing before.

Edward carefully tore off the tape and opened the box. It smelled like old flowers.

The box was filled with journals, pink and blue notebooks, paintings, sketchbooks, Avon products, a gold locket heart necklace, and a vanilla white dress. Edward reached in and pulled out the dress first, he didn't know why exactly. The dress was silky smooth with small buttons lining up the front. It was perfectly white, except for the brownish spot near the shoulder—blood had been there once. He knew that dress.

Edward held the dress, remembering everything about that night. He remembered sculpting, accidentally cutting Kim's hand, running away from the police, holding her, saving Kevin, running away again, Kim following him, Jim beating him, Jim slapping Kim...killing Jim...and Kim kissing him good-bye. It ended abruptly.

Edward looked at the dress, sighed softly, and folded it on the floor.

He took out a bottle of Avon perfume. The bottle was yellow with a blue ribbon tied around it. It smelled like Kim. He reverently put the bottle next to her dress, and continued to look inside the box.

Edward decided not to read the journals, for Kim's privacy, but then it dawned on him that if Kim said it was for him, he might be allowed to read it. With care, he opened it to the first page, and read the journal. Then he consumed another and another. It was like she was talking again, spilling out everything inside her head.

She mentioned him in one of her later journals, and they weren't very nice. It hurt Edward by the way she wrote about him. But, gradually, Kim grew fonder and fonder of him, until she wrote constantly about how she didn't love Jim and how pretty Edward's sculptures were. Her last entry was when she met this man named Mark Walters in college---

Edward looked at Kim's sketchbooks. They had grey outlines of hands, eyes, noses, arms, legs, ears—some were sketches of Peg, Bill, Jim, and Kevin. They were very beautiful. He flipped through the book finding numerous crossed out 'Mrs. Jim Higgins' or 'Mrs. Kim Higgins'. He saw a picture of himself. He flipped the page. A drawing of his scissorhands was carefully drawn.

Edward closed the book. He stared at the box for a long, long time.

"Edward!" yelled Lucy, from the livingroom, "We're watching _West Side Story_! Do you want to watch?"

Whatever _'West Side Story'_ was, Edward wasn't all that enticed to partake in watching it. But he got up anyway, as not to disappoint Lucy, and left the room.

* * *

School's starting!!! No! I curse the human who thought of the school system! Die, kill, burn!!!! Graarrrrr!!!!!.....Okay, sorry, my little spaz is over with... (smiles, sheepishly) 

Anyway, I love and adore ALL of my beautiful reviewers.


	9. Ninth Chapter

If TechMec is an actual company—my reference to them is purely coincidental. I don't own them.

* * *

Not Even Human—Chapter Nine

* * *

**As** Kennedy watched the livingroom in the dark of the kitchen, he had an idea. The TV flickered like an electric fire inside a box, leaving a ghostly glow inside the livingroom. Kennedy Boggs was bored out of his skull, and when he was bored, he thought best.  
  
Ken was sick and tired of Suburbia. It was too peaceful, too friendly, too pretty, too nice, too perfect. He craved crime and murder and fog and cold and women and money and...the city. 

Kennedy Boggs eyes blinked. Yes, that's it...

The city.

* * *

It was another Walters family dinner. It was October—the leaves to the trees got brown, wrinkled, and fell off the skinny trees, leaving them as bare skeletons. Orange and white pumpkins were appearing on the doorsteps and windows, witches were being pinned up to houses, toilet paper ghosts were rippling gracefully in the trees, scarecrows were being stuffed, and the House upon the Hill was, of course, the best Halloween decoration of all. 

"So, Edward, I suppose you could go back up to the mansion." Jake Walters said, squiring a piece of carrot with his fork. "Not permanently, of course—it's just you look pretty adjusted to your hands now. And I was thinking you could fix up your old home. Remodel it, maybe, to make the eyesore a bit comfier."

Jake Walters was right, Edward had grown used to his hands, and the House on the Hill _was_ an eyesore. Edward hadn't really thought of fixing up the House. Edward put down his fork and pondered on the idea.

Edward nodded, quietly, and said, "Okay."

"Good, good!" Aunt Jill said, scooping a spoonful of green beans into her plate. "I always thought that House just needed a touch up here and there. It's so classically English! And it's so big, too, Edward, you could make the place smaller, if you like, honey."

The whole family nodded their heads, in approval of the proposition. Except Kennedy who was sulking and chewing his turkey, slowly.

"You know, Jake," Kennedy said, swallowing the sweet turkey, "I had an idea..."

"Lord help us all..." Molly Walters grumbled, under her breath.

Kennedy shot an ugly look at Molly and said, "You guys know I'm moving next month. I thought that Edward could come along with me to Urban."

"Urban City?" The family said, simultaneously.

"Yeah, sure. I have friends up there in the city." Kennedy said, casually, "I got a job offer up there, too, at TechMec—they need new technical managers." He took a sip of soda, "Besides, Edward needs socializing. He needs to be better aquatinted with the world's ways."

There was a pause.

"And he could help me pay the rent." Kennedy added, shamefully.

"No." Molly said, decidedly, "I'm not allowing it."

"Oh? Well, last time I checked you wanted Edward as far away from you as possible." Ken hissed, softly.

Molly slammed her hand on the table, "Shut up, Kennedy! I have had _enough _of your sass!"

"Oh, come on, Molly. You're not his mother, for Christ's sake. Edward needs to get to know people."

"I don't want him getting to know city people."

"I find that insulting. City people are just the same as you and me." Kennedy said, sniffing.

"What about the crimes, drugs, and murders? Gangs? Shootings?"

"He can't be shielded from that forever." Kennedy argued, his eyes glittering with defiance.

"The world needs someone as innocent as Edward, Ken. The rest of us are all, well...we're just plain _bad_. He doesn't need to be corrupted like you." Molly Walters said, half adoringly to Edward and half disgusted to Kennedy.

"Yeah? Edward's going to get curious about the wild world sometime or another, Molly." Kennedy preached, sipping another cool swig or soda.

"Well, what if people recognize him from three years ago?" Molly Walters asked, concerned, "We can't risk that, you know."

"Not likely." Kennedy returned, "People have forgotten about him mostly. No one seems to recognize him here. Plus, the guy has hands now. People wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Don't contradict me, young man." Molly Walters snapped, viciously.

"Well," Uncle Frank said, slowly, "It's not our decision now, is it? Edward'll tell us if he wants to go to Urban or not."

Uncle Frank always stuck up for Edward, and always gave the family a good dose of reason. But he made Edward make all the decisions; Edward was not comfortable with too many decisions.

They all twisted their heads toward Edward for an answer. He bit his lip nervously; he hadn't the faintest idea on what a city was or what it was like.

"I don't know." Edward admitted, meekly, as he sculpted his mash potatoes. "What's Urban City like?"

"Oh, honey!" Aunt Jill put her hand over her heart, as if she was going to say the pledge of allegiance, "The city's just wonderful! Salons and shops galore! Everything's gigantic and grey—and very stylish. Fancy cars, elegant clothes, new gadgets, money, sights, food to die for, and—"The Aunt nudged Edward, "Pretty city girls."

Molly, ever practical, shook her head and said, "Don't tell him that, Jillian. The city's dangerous, too....blood shed, rapings, thieves..."

Well? Which one was it? Was Urban City a beautiful, gorgeous paradise or a blood-covered hell hole? How could they be both? Edward didn't understand.

"The city's cool," Bobby muttered, sadly, "Wish I could go....it's better than this place..."

"I don't want Eddie to go!" Lucy whined, clutching her fists and frowning, distressed, "He's like family now!"

Bobby and Lucy's comments didn't help. Edward still felt lost on the subject.

"Let's let Edward decide later." Jake Walters said, mercifully as he saw the confusion in the machine boy's eyes, "It's a big choice. It's a big change---and Edward can't be expected to give us an answer on the spot. The boy needs some time."

* * *

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, I love you too, baby..." Kennedy Boggs cooed into the cell phone, "I'll be there soon, okay, Isabel? I'm coming in a month with a cousin—yeah, a cousin—his name's Edward." 

A female voice sizzled at the other end of the phone as Kennedy flipped through a grey newspaper.

"How old his he?" Kennedy stopped, completely. He was stumped. "Oh. Oh...I'd say twenty...ish."

Ken knew that Edward was well over sixty (though no one in their right mind would guess it), but Isabel wouldn't have understood that. And what harm could a white lie do? He continued to talk mindlessly into the phone as he scanned the newspaper.

"Okay, Isabel, I'll call you," He said, in a rare sweetness, "I love you more. Yeah, I know. Yeah, yes, I know. No, no, no I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Ok. Cya. Love you....kay, bye."

Kennedy pressed the red button and threw the cell phone on the couch, lazily. He frowned when he read that his favorite team had lost Saturday's game.

* * *

"But I don't want him to go!" Lucy complained, childishly, "Edward wouldn't like being so far away from home!" 

"And you know this how?" Bobby mumbled, as he took out the trash, "You're not Edward. I wouldn't blame him if he wanted to get out of this damn pastel paradise..."

"Another dollar, please, young man!" Molly said, putting out her hand.

Bobby grumbled and put a crumbled dollar bill in his mother's hands for the 'Swearing Money'.

"Well, Edward is an independent...person." Molly said, maternally, as she washed the dishes, "And he can make decisions perfectly by himself. I agree with you Lucy, I don't want Edward to leave us. But, no thanks to Kennedy, Edward has to think it through by himself."

The little girl whined and nagged some more, insistently.

"And besides, honey," Aunt Jill added, "I heard your Math grades are lowering. We're getting concerned, baby, and we know you're a bright girl. Maybe, Lucy lamb, you'll be better off with Edward in the city. You need to focus on school, not him, dearie."

"You need to concentrate on what's important." Molly said, solemnly as she washed her hands with foamy water.

Lucy sighed and walked out of the kitchen to go to her room. She almost cried.

* * *

A month went by without the subject being brought up. But every day the family grew tenser and tenser---quieter, more polite, strained, bored, and uncomfortable. It was as if they were balloons being pumped up with too much air; they were just waiting for the perfect moment to burst. Edward would have to answer, soon.

"Could you please pass the potatoes?" Jake Walters asked, when dinner began.

"Of course, dear." Molly Walters said, painfully polite, as she passed the yellow plate.

If you knew the Walters family, you knew that if they were smiling brightly, being polite, and being obliging...you knew something was wrong. They all were unnaturally happy, supernaturally happy. They never acted like this without a seriously disturbing reason.

They all acted stiff and wooden, as if they had some sort of bomb inside them, waiting to explode. They ate very little, and when they did, their faces were sour like lemons...which was another deathly sign.

"We've been having lovely weather, haven't we?" Molly said, trying to start nice conversation.

"Yes, not a cloud in the sky since Edward..." Jake stopped himself for no particular reason, he sighed, wrinkling his rough skin, "Since...you know, Edward isn't _up there_..."

"I miss the snow." Bobby blurted out, carelessly squashing his food; "It's so damn hot now..."

No one even bothered to ask for the swearing fee.

"Yes, well, things change, Bobby. And that's life, isn't it?"

Bobby Walters shrugged and sighed, boredly.

A pure, unspoiled silence descended over the dinner. A few of them shifted in their seats, irritably, and waited for someone to say _something, anything._ But no one did and they left the rest to evil silence. The grandfather clock struck eight with a deep, authoritative gong. They hadn't spoken one single word in over an hour.

"I can't take this anymore!" Kennedy said, in quiet torment, "Somebody say something before I lose my fucking mind!"

Before anyone could kindle decent conversation, Lucy Walters, who had been as silent as the grave all day, asked the million dollar question:

"Are you going to the city, Edward?"

"I'm leaving in a week, Ed," Kennedy said, nodding, "You need to tell us, man."

Edward put down his spoon and stared at Lucy, confused. He swallowed, but his throat was as dry as a bone.

He wanted to say 'yes' and 'no' at the same time, but he knew 'maybe' wouldn't cut it. He needed to give them an answer, pure and simple. Black and white. Yes or no.

"I don't know." Edward breathed, embarrassed.

"What?" Kennedy shouted, angrily, "You had a month to decide!"

"That's enough, Kennedy Boggs! It's not an easy decision to make, for Pete's sake!" Aunt Jill argued, scooting closer to Edward.

"Well, I, for one am glad—"

"When will you learn to shut up, Molly?" Kennedy shouted, raising his hands up.

"_Oh, how dare you?_"

"Shut up! Shut up Shut up!" Lucy screamed, loudly.

"Stop it! I can't take this!"

"Oh, cry me a river...and do us all a favor, drown in it."

The family screamed and shouted at each other, leaving Edward and mild-mannered Uncle Frank to either ignore them or to sit and stare, calmly. Uncle Frank chose to be oblivious and to eat his green beans, which was the wisest and safest route.

Edward got up from the table, soaking up all the attention. He never drew attention to himself, not purposely, and the family had enough sense to simmer down and listen to what Edward had to say for himself. The boy took a deep breath.

"I'll go," Edward said, decidedly, "I'll go."

The family looked down at their plates, like naughty children and continued to eat their dinner. It was quiet again.

Lucy gasped and sobbed, heart-brokenly, and Molly Walters dabbed her damp eyes with a handkerchief. They were acting as if Edward was going off to be slaughtered.

Things were settled, Edward concluded, sadly. He felt his insides turn to jelly—Edward didn't want to go to Urban City, he just wanted to make the family settle down—but he was a honorable creation of his word and he would not back down on a decision.

Edward really did not want to go, but, I suppose, he was going anyway.

* * *

Oh, dear...it might be some time before I can update again, but I will try and updatenext week, if I can. Please, bare with me, guys. 


	10. Urban City

**Author's note: Once again, thank you for all the reviews! You guys rock my sox off! I love all your comments, and I love all of you! I LOVE EVERYONE ON FANFICTION ! THAT'S RIGHT...EVERYONE! MUHAHAHA! **

**Kisses and hugs to all of you! Love you all!

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**

Not Even Human---Urban City

* * *

**It** was universally known that Ken Boggs was the worst driver in human existence. Edward experienced this first-hand, and he miraculously survived the trip...barely. 

The city was a misty, foggy-grey place with buildings as high as the heavens themselves. People, all kinds of different people, ran, walked, and strolled in every direction, and Edward wondered if they were actually going somewhere or just running around busily in circles.

Cars, dirty trucks, and black and silver limousines were zooming crazily down the streets. A few young men and women had headphones covering their ears, music booming into their skulls. Almost everyone, Edward noticed, was chatting into little, fragile things called "cell phones".

The city wasn't a paradise—there wasn't half as many of the salons Edward had imagined—but it was not a blood bath either. Rather, it was a combination of the two. It was sickeningly beautiful, eerily comfortable, and an exciting buzz always hummed loudly in the nub of the wild, dark city.

Large glass windows advertised bold, colorful clothes, offices grumbled with hurried working people, dismal parks housed the glum homeless, and street vendors sold enticing, fat hot dogs.

The dead air stunk of murky gasoline and stale food. The concrete and gun-metal grey buildings blocked the warm sun from the city's gloomy jungle. The city, basically, was a giant, pitchy maze of tall, intimidating buildings with a few grungy obstacles spotted here and there.

Urban City was so strange and alien compared to safe Suburbia. It chilled Edward to think that his "home" was so far behind him now, and that he was facing a cold-shouldered new world.

**URBAN CITY**

The thick, silver letters advertised on concrete entrance to City Hall. Edward felt change wash all over him, and he didn't like it. Change always meant trouble. Always.

"We're here. Apartment number...177, Flint Street. We're on ...floor three." Kennedy Boggs said, puffing out cigarette smoke, staring between a piece of paper and the painted black wooden door before them.

The foggy smoke from Ken's cigarette and the city smog plugged up Edward's throat and nose with a dull, distasteful stench.

Edward only partially listened to Ken. He was staring straight up at the buildings, in awe.

"Hey, you know you shouldn't be staring at those buildings so long." Kennedy said, waving his hand in Edward's face.

"Why?" Edward asked, his black eyes glittering with curiosity.

"Because people will start to think you've never seen them before." Ken said, feeling like he was talking to a Kindergartener.

"But I haven't." Edward said, getting rather frustrated with Ken's logic.

"Well, Ed," Kennedy said, greatly vexed, "You shouldn't be so honest all the time. Especially not here."

Kennedy Boggs and Edward's father would have never got along, for it seemed like whatever Ken believed in was the opposite of what Edward's inventor had taught him. The Inventor always told Edward to be honest, polite, and kind---Ken was none of these.

"The City will do you wonders, Ed," Kennedy said, while opening the black door, "A good, healthy dose of reality, man, and you should be fine."

* * *

Edward's first full day in Urban City had been embarrassing, frightening, and all around terrible. First, he and Kennedy had gone on the city bus, there were no seats left on the buss so they had to stand up. Well. He ended up falling down face-first infront of strangers, because he hadn't held on tight enough to the bars. Poor Edward was still blushing a brick red, and he couldn't manage to look anyone in the face. He was mortified. 

After that ordeal, Edward had been introduced to coffee. He gulped it down, and the black poison burned his tongue and throat until they were numb.

"What is... this again?" Edward gasped out, coughing and wheezing.

People in the coffeehouse began to look at Edward and Kennedy, curiously. Edward was starting to attract attention.

"Uh, coffee." Ken answered, watching Edward choke out his coffee,

"C-coffee?"

"Yeah. You okay, Ed?" Kennedy said, raising an eyebrow. He took another puff of his cigarette.

Edward shook his head, and winced from the pain of his upset stomach. He swore on his life never to have another ever, ever again.

He had bumped into countless people and his feet had been trampled on numerous times, over and over again. Kennedy had abandoned Edward to go to his job at TechMet—so Edward lulled around the apartment. Ed wrote, drew, ate, and lay on the couch, extremely depressed. So the day ended with Edward locking himself up in his room and being absorbed in utter despair.

* * *

"Isabel!" Kennedy Boggs said, happily, when he saw he girlfriend, "Hey, baby!" 

Isabel was the kind of woman you'd expect to be on a magazine cover. She was thin, brown-eyed, clear skinned, and healthy brown hair. But, like cherry chocolates, she was pretty and soft on the outside, but disgusting and sour on the inside. She was a hateful, mean-spirited woman who would stab her best friend in the back for a Gucci handbag. She smiled slightly when she saw Kennedy and they kissed.

"I ought to kill you!" Isabel snapped, "God, Kenny, I thought you died! _Three years, _Kenny! Three! Don't you worry me like that again, you dumbass!"

"Aw, I love you too, honey..." Kennedy said, sarcastically, as he put his arm around her waist.

"And get that cigarette out of your mouth!" Isabel nagged, plucking the white cigarette out of his lips. "If you keep doing that, I'll go to Paul."

"Who's Paul?" Kennedy said, frowning.

This made Isabel laugh. "Kenny, Kenny...." Isabel said, sweetly, "Did you really think I'd be some sort of nun while you were doing your little disappearing act?"

"Don't tell me he's a boyfriend!" Kennedy Boggs said, almost angry, but in a way, he expected it. "Shit..."

"Well? Don't 'shit' me. You should've known, that's all I have to say." Isabel said, kissing Kennedy's pouting face. "Besides, he's one of the stupid, gullible ones. He'll never be smart enough to know about you and me."

"Oh," Kennedy said, his face brightening up like a lamp, "You're cheating? Good girl! I have to say, I'm proud of you...It's such an improvement from the sweet, innocent little virgin Miss Isabel Watson who tottered into this city." Kennedy smirked, pervertedly, "But you learned from the best."

"Thanks to you, Kenny dear." Isabel laughed, cruelly, as she dabbed red lip-gloss on her lips. "Thanks to you."

"No, don't thank me, Isabel. It was a pleasure." Kennedy said, with a grin so wicked and dark that he could have been mistaken for Satan himself.

"So, cheeky, where is this cousin of yours?" Isabel asked, hugging Ken. "The Canadian one?"

"Oh, he's somewhere..." Kennedy didn't have the faintest idea.

"Well, I want to meet him. In fact, I had an idea..." Isabel said, sneakily.

"Oh, did you?" He said, tightening his gasp on his girlfriend.

"Yes, I very good one at that." The woman said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, "I have a question though, darling. Is he taken?"

"Edward? No. He's not taken." Kennedy could see where this was going now.

"Oo, good! Edward is hot, isn't he?" Isabel said, her voice lofty and airy. "But...he seems a little...shall we say naïve, to say the least?"

"How would you know?" Ken asked, shocked.

"Oh, being under a rock for three years has taken its toll on you, hasn't it, Kenny dear?" Isabel said, teasingly, "I have my ways..."

"Of course. So there is a... plan?"

Isabel smirked again, her brown eyes shining in the pale glow of the subway's florescent lighting.

* * *

"Edward!" 

No answer.

"Edward!" Kennedy Boggs shouted, his sword-sharp voice slicing through the air, "_Edward!_ Are you here or what? C'mon, man...Edward! Edward! Edward?"

"Eddie?" Isabel enticed, softly, like a purring cat trapping a mouse, "Hello! We don't bite, do we, Kenny? C'mon, sweetie, I want to see you..."

"C'mon, man! I forgot my keys at work! Open up!" Ken yelled, impatiently, as he knocked on the door.

A shuffling sound came from the other end of the door, and the door opened, slowly. The grey-blue door glided away to reveal a messy-haired, exhausted, and extremely woeful Edward. He gave an effort to smile, but it ended up looking like he had a twitch.

"Hello..." Edward said to Isabel, politely, despite his sad situation. "My name's—"

"I know your name already, honey." Isabel chirped, rudely, as she looked Edward up and down, "Edward Hands, right? My name is Isabel Watson."

"Hello." Edward said again, feeling grungy and unfit to be seen.

"He's more handsome up close, don't you think?" Isabel commented, right in Edward's face. Edward stood there, stunned at her impropriety. "But he looks like Hell right now. Too messy."

"He's just getting use to things, Isabel..." Ken said, as he went into the kitchen.

"Poor baby..." Isabel said, stepping closer to Edward. She she smiled, slyly...just the way Joyce had done. Exactly the same.

Edward shuddered a little and stepped back. Isabel was like Joyce...exactly the same.

So, Isabel proved herself to be rude, egotistic, cruel, and very perverse. She kept checking out Edward, with a strange gleam in her brown eyes, and this made Edward dislike her all the more.

They said they were going out later, and Edward desperately wanted them to go. He thought he might've liked their company, but they ended up just making him feel awful. But, of course, they stayed, to Edward's dismay. The two of them gossiped, drank, gossiped some more, made hurtful jokes about people, became a little tipsy, and kissed—they kissed a lot.

Edward decided to leave them to themselves, and he moped in his room again. He hated the city, and all the people inside it. Molly Walters had been right, city people weren't pleasant.

"Eddie?" Isabel knocked on the door, "Eddie? Aw, come on, cutie, don't be so damn antisocial."

Kennedy opened Edward's door and peered inside, nosily. Isabel peeked behind Kennedy, with a wild, unloving glaze in her eyes.

"Hi, Eddie..." Isabel cooed, "Oh, look at the state of him. He's so depressed, the poor honey...I feel so fucking sorry for him, Kenny."

She didn't sound sorry for Edward at all, actually.

Isabel came closer to Edward, and he wished he could run away from her. She was very pretty, but...then again so are roses...and roses have thorns.

"I just had the perfect idea!" Isabel screamed, happily, "Let's take him out! I'll call Colleen up and we can go clubbing or something! Won't that be great?"

"Sure." Kennedy said, cheerfully.

Edward wasn't stupid. He knew they had been planning this...right from the moment they stepped into the apartment Isabel and Kennedy had had some sort of smirking bond between each other.

There was no point in objecting, since Isabel had already called Colleen up. It would be rude for him to stay. He was trapped.

* * *

Edward's stomach tickled nervously as the yellow sun light faded and the moon's grey-white beams bounced off the mirror-like windows of the buildings. There were no stars in the sky, just a dull, dark blue heaven stretched over the dark city.

The clocked ticked. They'd be leaving in half and hour, and Edward prayed that 9:30 P.M. would never come. Edward was terrified, despite the fabulous things Isabel had told him, about going to a club.

"You'll love it." Isabel had reassured, coldly, "I was nervous, too, when I went to my first club, honey. Trust me, once you go, you'll never want to leave. It gets addictive."

This only made Edward's heart get into his throat, and he frowned, worriedly. He didn't trust one word Isabel Watson said.

* * *

**Sorry I have been so late updating. I can't help it because of school. Damn school to hell! Grrr! I spit at it, and wish it a painful death!**


	11. Ed's Hell

**

* * *

Yes, I have come back. Thank you for the kind reviews! Lovely, beautiful people! **

**Well, I think you need to be warned, this chapter does contain some BIG drug refs. I personally do not do drugs, but I have heard things about it from others. I am not supporting the use of drugs AT ALL...in fact, I am strictly AGAINST it. I am just using 'weed' as a symbol of corruption in the story, nothing more, nothing less.**

* * *

Not Even Human—Just For Fun

* * *

**If** this was Ken's Heaven, then this was Edward's Hell. This was a place where innocence was shed off like snakeskin, and all good reason was thrown away for the moment. That's what a club was all about, living for the moment—but what you do one moment, could affect the next—and how quickly those moments turn to hours, days, weeks, months...even years, even whole lives.

It made Edward ashamed of the human race.

The streets were black and populated with people. Silver puddles glittered on the concrete, as the people slowly squeezed into the small club's door. _Club 9 _the sign said, flickering its electric crimson red light, irritatedly, as it softly illuminated the legions of party-goers with a cherry-red light.

Colleen Maxwell, Isabel's friend, turned out to be the mirror image of Isabel, in body, soul, and mind. She pushed herself close to Edward's side, making his spine tingle, and she held his hand, forcefully pulling him along. Kennedy had his arm over Isabel's shoulders and he was puffing his thirtieth cigarette of the evening, and Isabel was practically draped all over Kennedy, kissing him and touching him and God knows what else.

The people were withering to the music, drinking brown glass bottles of slick booze, making waves of ghostly cigarette smoke, sniffing this sugary looking dust, people were laughing hysterically at nothing, and collapsing on the floor, unconscious.

It daunted Edward, and the fact that Miss Maxwell was inching closer and closer to his side wasn't helping much. At the moment, the music was too loud for anyone to talk and actually be heard, so Edward just smiled politely at Miss Maxwell, in a weak attempt to make friends.

Miss Maxwell just kept inching her way closer to Edward, smirking, with her ruby red mouth and hornet-gold hair.

Edward tried to keep up with Kennedy and Isabel, but with all the people going in different directions at the same time, it was as hard as to track a twig in a rapid.

Miss Maxwell kept pulling him along, insistently, as if she were pulling in a fish from a lake, and as he was being dragged along, Edward tripped over a young boy, probably only in his late teens, lying on the floor, his mouth filled with oozing drool.

_Is he resting? Sleeping?'_ Edward thought, bending down to the young man, curiously, _'Maybe...he fainted like Lucy does.'_

The booming music paused momentarily, and Kennedy broke away from Isabel and walked over to Edward, frustratedly.

"Come on Edward." Kennedy grabbed Edward's arm and pushed him forward.

"Is he okay?" Ed asked, while looking back at the boy.

Kennedy shrugged, impassively, "What am I, a doctor?"

"Yes." Edward said. Kennedy was a doctor, actually, he had a Ph.D. in mechanics or something of the like.

"Shut up, Edward." Kennedy snapped, angrily. "Just walk."

Edward did what he was told, silently.

Suddenly, out came from the loud crowd a weasel-like, slender little man with glassy green eyes and a freckle-spotted face. The weasel-man smiled, obligingly, to Edward, and Edward did his best to smile back.

"Hey, buddy," The green-eyed man said, in a cocky tone of voice, "See that kid over there?" Weasel-man jerked his head over to the boy on the floor.

Edward glanced back at the teenage boy on the floor and nodded, still looking at the boy.

"Well, that's how good _you'll_ feel after taking some of this." The weasel-man took out some chopped up green, parsley looking leaves, all crumpled up in a tiny plastic bag. "Thirty-nine bucks and you're gonna be higher than the Empire State Building."

"...Excuse me?" Edward said, very confused. _How can I be higher than a building? _

"Weed, man, weed." The weasel-man said, laughing, quite amused "C'mon, man...This your first time? That's cool. The first time's always the best, believe me. C'mon, man, I'll make it thirty bucks for you, just because it's your first. Huh? C'mon, how does that sound?"

"No tha—"

"I'll buy for both of us." Miss Maxwell interrupted as she pulled out some green money for some green weed. She leaned closer to the drug dealer, "It's his first time with drugs, give him something mild, kay?"

"Kay." Said the weasel, shuffling the money, quickly, in his hands. He smiled, a thin, sneaky smile as he tossed the bag over to Miss Maxwell, and the weasel-man sank back into the infinite crowd.

"Thank you." Edward said, knowing that it was polite to thank someone who just bought something for you.

Miss Maxwell raised an eyebrow and smirked a blood-red smile. "No problem, Ed. So... where do you want to try this out?"

"Try..." Edward asked, a little lost, "try what?"

"Try this, stupid." Miss Maxwell held up the plastic bag with the 'weed' in it. "Here, one minute."

Miss Maxwell hurried up to Isabel and the two young women started chatting excitedly, giggling and laughing, and pointing towards a nervous Edward. Isabel said something Edward couldn't quite make out but Miss Maxwell laughed and nodded, while looking at him.

A girl, scantily clad, brushed past Edward, making him topple slightly. The girl stopped and said, "Oh. Sorry." And the girl looked Edward from top to bottom. A few other girls started to do the same thing, and Edward started to wonder if these clumsy bumps were really of an accidental nature.

"Ed." Kennedy said, his eyes sliding up and down the curves of one young woman, "God, man. Do you see that? Ed, you're like some sort of...magnet thing. I gotta bring you around more often..."

Kennedy stood dazed, eyes narrowed, as he continued to look the pretty girls swarming around Edward up and down, and then down and up.

"Hey..." One of the blond-haired girls said, wooingly, "My name's—"

Miss Maxwell purred, competitively, as she sashayed her short red skirt over to Edward's side, and put her arms around his waist and smiled, sourly, back at the flirtatious girl.

"Bitch..." the blond-haired girl muttered, jealously.

"At least I don't look like Barbie, fucker." Miss Maxwell hissed, sweetly, as she tightened her grasp on Edward's waist.

Edward, frankly, was shocked senseless. He didn't know how cruel city women could be to each other, how competitive they were. The words they used were horrible—Edward had never been taught how to deal with swearing people, and he was little worried about how tight Miss Maxwell was holding onto his waist.

The girls, seeing that the territory was already claimed, migrated to another part of the busy club.

Miss Maxwell sighed, slowly, and looked up at Edward. "C'mon, Edward. Follow me, we'll catch up with Isabel and Ken later, kay?"

"Okay..." Edward said, a little concerned but he followed Miss Maxwell's lead anyway, despite his common sense.

"Have you ever tried weed, hon?" Miss Maxwell asked, slyly.

"N-no." Edward said, feeling his palms get sweaty and his stomach grumble, nervously.

Miss Maxwell laughed a little and then looked at Edward, "Go in there." She said, pointing to a red door and Edward obeyed, silently.

The room was melting hot and smoke seeped and swirled around in it. People were either lying open-eyed and limp on the floor or having sex in the corner. The whole room reeked of something dark and old, and Edward could hardly walk, out of both shock and horror.

"Hey, Edward, come on, sit down..." Miss Maxwell said, calmly, as she crossed her legs and sat down on the cushioned floor.

Edward didn't know what to do. He wanted to run out the door and keep running until he reached Suburbia, and, then again, he didn't mind finding out what this parsley stuff was like. To his eternal regret, he sat down.

"All right," Miss Maxwell brought out the plastic bag and put the green stuff in a pipe. She lit it with her lighter. "Here..."

He reached out for the pipe and gulped, terrified, as he brought the pipe to his lips and inhaled. Edward didn't even know why he was doing this, he was curious, maybe, but also, sort of because he had been looked at by some of the girls—and even impressed Kennedy. He didn't want to be alone anymore; he wanted friends.

The smoke blew up to his nose and he sneezed, loudly, and choked out the smoke and the taste, violently. He gagged over and over again, until he handed the pipe back to Miss Maxwell, and then he started to wheeze and cough, hoarsely.

To Edward's shame, Miss Maxwell was laughing at him and shaking her head, finding the loss of innocence very entertaining.

"Jesus, Ed...you're so cute." She chuckled, as she casually took a puff of the stuff.

Edward felt his chest ache from all the smoke, and he told Miss Maxwell that he wanted to leave.

"Oh, no. You've gotta stay here with me..." Miss Maxwell said, smiling broadly. Edward noticed that the weeds were doing something to her. "We...we just started having fun, right, Ed?"

"I...don't think..."

Miss Maxwell nudged up to Edward and she put her head on his shoulder and dragged him down to the floor. She moved her smooth hand under Edward's shirt, and started to hug him that way. Edward flinched, shocked, as he saw that she was taking off his jacket and shirt. Not that he would be cold without them, the room was steamy and humid, making Edward's brow become tender and melty.

She kept rubbing his chest, which only made Edward's heart freeze with a sort of confused terror. Edward started shaking his head, slowly, as he tried to catch Miss Maxwell's attention and tell her this wasn't right.

He didn't even know her; he had hardly just met her, and she was doing these things already? Edward was tense with fear, but he thought that maybe this was just something young women did sometimes when they meet people. Edward stopped himself; Kim had never done this, any of the few young women he did know had never been so bold—not even Isabel had taken off his shirt and...did things.

Joyce had done this, and Edward's emotions immediately rocketed up from confusion to dread.

Edward pleaded out a small, "No..."

"C'mon, sweetie," cooed the young woman, wickedly, "It's just for fun."

_Just for fun? I'm not having fun. _Edward thought, terrified, as Miss Maxwell came practically on top of him.

He had practically just met Miss Maxwell...! This wasn't proper, and it wasn't right, and Edward knew how much his father would disapprove.

He started to push her away, gradually, as she swooped forward, supposedly trying to kiss him. Edward's hands were trembling and he quickly closed his eyes, startled. He was panic-stricken, as he politely tried to peel the woman off him.

. She jolted, her ruby-red lips pouted, and Miss Maxwell glared frustratedly at the man below her.

"What?" She barked, furiously, as she shot two toxin eyes at Edward's outstretched, rejecting hands.

Edward only kept gently pushing her away, but the woman slapped his hands out of her way and tried to stoop towards his mouth again. He turned his face away, horrified, and her mouth left a stamp of red lips on his cheek. Miss Maxell bent closer to Edward, and she tried pinning him down, in a very forceful, unkind sort of way.

Edward felt sick, as his plastic stomach flamed with worry, as he felt Miss Maxwell's sharp pink-painted nails dig painfully into his arms. She was getting too close to him now, and Edward's tickled all over, disgustingly.

He lifted his arms up again and continued to push the Miss Maxwell off his chest.

This time, Miss Colleen Maxwell leaned away from Edward, but her eyes were burning with anger. She frowned, her makeup slanting and twisting, making pretty symbols and lines.

"What?" Miss Maxwell growled, as rage shot up from her heart to her mouth, "What is it? What the fuck is it? Are you gay or something? What is it?"

_Just get off me, please!_

"Do you find me repulsive or something?" She snapped, showing her snow-white teeth underneath her rose-petal lips. Miss Maxwell loosened her grip on Edward, and the man earnestly climbed out from under her.

Edward put his shirt on backwards, as he ran out of the room, tripping over couples kissing and touching each other all over. He began to push his way through the thick crowd of drunken, dancing people, and he eventually was able to squeeze his way out of the mass. The music still pounded in his ears, and Edward could feel his head split with headache.

Edward ran passed a darkly lit corner, populated with a dozen girls and guys gathered together. A thick, grey smoke was floating up from their small group.

"Hey...Ed..." Kennedy said, as he slowly toppled out of the circle. He looked strange; his oak wood brown eyes were staring at Edward, but something about Ken looked...out of place. "Hey, man. How's it going? Hey..."

"Kennedy?" Edward asked, his heart going a mile a minute. "Please, take me home—"

Kennedy Boggs started sniggering, then crying, then he was laughing so hard he could hardly grasp out for breath.

"This is a great party, isn't it?" Kennedy laughed, loudly, as if he was telling a joke. "How was Colleen, eh?...Huh? What did you...say, Ed? Heh...yeah... I know!"

Kennedy laughed some more at nothing, while Edward slowly backed away. Kennedy had lost his mind. In fact, everyone in that corner was acting odd...laughing, stumbling, gasping, giggling, and sucking in that small sugar-like stuff wrapped up in the white paper.

Edward didn't care were he went—he just wanted to be out of the thumping music, the red lights, the smell---Edward's stomach became floppy and he wished more than anything to be back in Suburbia. The boy slid his way around the crowd, like a desert snake in the sand, and then, in one glorious moment, he saw the one thing that gave him all the comfort in the world.

The _Exit _sign, shining like a beacon of lime green hope.

He charged through the screeching crowd, watching the sign come closer and closer to him in the darkness. When he got to the sign, Edward pushed the door wide open and ran out into the wet alleyway.

* * *

Edward was curled up in a corner, pulling his damp shirt closer to him, with his hands hiding his face, sadly. He didn't care if the floor of the alleyway was muddy, trashy, and wet—he was just glad that the air was fresher than inside the club and that he was outside the club.

Edward wished Kim was with him; she would've known what to do right now. Mrs. Boggs would've known what to do, too. Peg always knew the answer, and so did Mr. Boggs, he was always telling about right and wrong, and morals and ethics. Edward had really liked Mr. Boggs, because he had reminded him of his real father. The Walters family were wonderful, too, after all, they had already branded Edward as "one of the family", but the kind little clan was not the same as the Boggses. He missed his old family...they would've told him what was right or wrong.

He looked up at the sky and waited for the stars to appear. After waiting for what seemed to be decades, not one diamond-sized star dared to glitter harmoniously in the heavens, and sky was as black as ink, staring judgmentally down at poor, trembling little Edward.

_I want to go home_. Edward thought, feeling the freeze stiffen his skin, _How can I go home?_

Edward kept looking for stars to appear. None appeared, but Edward looked anyway, hoping to be comforted by something, anything out there in the world.

* * *


	12. The City Hospital

Once again, thank you all for the lovely comments...thank you, you really help me, guys!

* * *

Not Even Human--Hospital and Hospitable

* * *

**The** boy was foaming from the mouth, as he stared up at the starless heavens. Three men and one woman were gathered around the drugged-out young man, their sooty shadows spreading across the alleyway, eerily.

Two men were watching the limp little boy, and a slim, slinky little man glared at the woman, cautiously. The lady was in a thick, black trenchcoat, an article of clothing that would have definitely kept her toasty in the cool winter night—but she was nonetheless trembling.

Edward slowly lifted himself up from the floor and spied over a tin garbage can to see the scene at the other end of the alleyway.

The trenchcoat lady and the weasel-man exchanged brief murmurs at first, but they soon evolved into shouts. Their angry breath floated mistily in the icy midnight air, and their voices lifted higher than the club's booming music.

"Listen. The boy—no, listen to me!—he's in some sort of coma, don't you see? He's terribly sick, please, he needs help, can't you see that?" The lady said, picking the boy's floppy arm.

The weasel-man shook his head, "He's fine... C'mon...! Hey, what did I just tell you? He's all right, okay?"

"No, he is not. Just look at the boy! Go on, just look. He's been overdosed or something, can't you see? We need to call an ambulance! Somebody call an ambulance!"

No one moved a muscle. She wasted no time and quickly got out her own cell phone.

One of the men snatched the phone out of her hand and threw it to the broken concrete ground, the phone made an explosion like fireworks; white sparks and blue stars bursting in the air. There was a brief hush.

The trenchcoat lady's mouth opened, her glasses glittered, and her breathing started to get fretted and quick as she saw the murderous gleam the men had in their eyes. She gingerly took a step backwards.

"The boy..." She cried, her face becoming seashell pale and her eyes widening with apprehension. "The boy needs medical attention--!"

"Look here, you little nosy bitch..." The weasel man, snarled, his green eyes sparkling with weed and money, "You can't do that. Now. I'll ask you really nice just to leave."

"No, no...you don't seem to understand—the boy is sick, he needs help. You can't just let—" The lady said, her mouth opening and her glasses shining a solid red in the club light's light.

"We have every right, you realize!" The weasel-man said, puffing his chest up like a balloon, "You have been disturbing my customers."

"By trying to save them from the hell they are living in? By trying to help them know that they can live a better life than living in sin--?"

"Listen, preacher, I'm not asking for a fucking sermon, all right?" The weasel-man said, "I want you to start leaving by the count of ten, or I'll be calling the police, okay?"

"No, it's not okay!" The lady protested, urgently. "This boy needs help, as do all the people in that building over there—as do you! Can't you see?"

"Ten." He started counting.

The lady scooped the teenage boy up and dragged him along with her, as if she were a little girl carrying an oversized rag-doll. The men monitored the weasel-man's face, as if they were waiting for instruction. Then, in a burst of action, they started shouting and grabbing the boy out of her arms.

"Nine!" The green-eyed man shouted, yanking the lady away from the boy.

The woman in the trenchcoat got a whiff of the boy's breath, and she winced, disgusted. But not soon after, she lifted her head up, slowly, and frowned. She had uncovered something.

She pushed her sliding glasses up with a trembling finger, "You gave him marijuana? You...gave him...? You're drug lords."

"I swear to God—if you tell anybody—"

The woman glanced, from left to right. She nervously pushed her glasses up yet again, and she flicked her frizzy hair off her face.

"You're going to let a boy die?" The lady said, "You are going to let a boy_ die_."

"We don't know if he'll die." One of them said, unconvincingly.

The lady looked down at the boy, shaking her curly head, "At this rate, he almost inevitably will!"

Edward watched the men start to spit and shout at each other, wrathfully. He pondered on such little things, like what a drug lord was, and how the impish little man resembled the man whom so graciously gave him 'weed'.

"Just look at the boy!" The lady wailed, trying to lift the young man up, "Help him!"

The boy was indeed dying, if not already almost quite, in the sense, dead. He lay flat on his back, unmoving besides the weak heaves of his perishing chest, and the boy's face was transforming from snow pale to dangerously death-like fish belly white.

"Help him!" The woman pleaded, coming closer to the quarreling brutes. "Stop it and help him! Help--!"

Edward heard the lady give a short, painful yell as she was tossed to the floor, her body landing right next to the almost soulless teen. The lady's glasses cracked and smashed across the alleyway's hard floor, and the trenchcoat lady did not get up, but just laid there, still and soundless.

The posse of men gazed, hypnotized by the lady and the boy, and their breathing became fast and irritated. They slowly stepped backwards with each breath, their eyes still glued to the bodies.

One man asked, his voice hushed, as if in church. "They dead?"

"Oh, Lord. I don't want to find out." The weasel-man gasped, holding his stomach, woefully.

And the weasel-man coughed, clutched his stomach, and fled from the alleyway. The two other men kept staring, then they slowly looked at each other, confused. The two tall men carefully stepped over the bodies and leisurely walked out of the alleyway.

* * *

Doctors are an elite bunch of maniacs. They always have charts and thermometers, and they jabber on about intelligent things. Well, a particular group of Urban City doctors were clustered together, dissecting Mr. Edward Hands' character and motivations. They, doctors, can be rather like housewives sometimes, Edward thought.

"Do you know this woman?" A doctor asked, delicately.

Mr. Edward Hands shook his head. The doctors nodded, simultaneously, and they shifted their weight from one leg to the other.

"Do you know the boy, Mr. Hands?" Another enquired.

"No."

"And...you _ran_ all the way over to the hospital, carrying both?" They all chuckled a little, finding the man's bravery funny and a little idiotic.

Edward felt abashed, but hadn't the slightest knowledge of why, "Yes."

The doctors fell into a perplexed silence, and their eyes widened, surprised. Their lips tightened, curiously, as they checked their charts (for no particular reason).

"But why?"

Mr. Edward Hands answered, worriedly, "It...was the right thing to do?"

_Did I do the wrong thing again?_ Edward thought, utterly ashamed of himself.

"Oh, no, no, no, my poor boy!" One plump, pompous doctor laughed, touched by Mr. Hands' ignorance, "Calling the police would have been the right thing to do! _They_ can properly handle such things!" The doctor shook his head, and tisk-tisked Edward, "What were you thinking, my young man? Ah, no matter now...the damage has already been done..."

"There has been no damage, Dr. Potter!" A reasonable doctor debated, frankly, "The man did a very brave thing. He was just confused at the time, like any normal person would be!"

At the stroke of midnight, the police arrived at the city hospital, swarming here and there, shoving the doctors aside and getting down to business.

Edward took deep breaths, and he panicked when he thought of how angry Kennedy would be when he catches wind of this. He put his sweaty hand to his blistering hot forehead, and bit his lip until it bled.

"You Edward Hands?" A policeman roared, impatiently, "Hey, son, wake up, will ya? This is important—you Ed Hands?"

Edward wiped the copperish blood off his lip, and nodded.

"All right, son," The policeman said, "Now, I'm gonna have to ask you some questions, okay? Come with me."

The policeman motioned for Edward to follow him, and the mechanical man did so, obedient as always. The policeman put him in a separate waiting room, where a mixture of doctors and policemen talked and interviewed. Edward saw that another policeman was interrogating the trenchcoat lady—it was a comfort, at least, that she had only been knocked out cold and not killed.

"Oh, dear, no!" The trenchcoat lady exclaimed, looking right at Edward, "He didn't hurt me, are you kidding? That man saved my life!" The policeman murmured something, and the lady frowned, and said, "No, of course not! He is completely innocent, and anyone who says otherwise is mad."

* * *

"Dr. Potter to room one seventy-three," The speakers announced, loudly, "Dr. Potter to room one seventy-tree, please."

Plump little Dr. Potter waddled over to room one seventy-three, with an air of a spoiled, furry pet dog.

Edward liked people watching, because he always found people so entertaining—they were always doing something strange. They talked and talked and talked until their jaws became weary and stiff, but Edward loved listening to them chatter on. It calmed him down, just listening to them, just watching them.

He needed calming down right now, his nerves were all shot, and the police interrogation had not gone well. Police made him nervous, they always had since that night they chased him up the Hill.

So, Eddie watched self-centered Dr. Potter trot along the halls, pass Edward, and enter room one seventy-three. Well, _almost_, enter room number one seventy-three—the doctor paused before he opened the door, turned towards Edward, and said:

"You, boy, can you give me a hand with something?"

Edward eagerly offered his assistance, and Dr. Potter beckoned the mechanical boy into the room, thankfully.

_Always be of service, Edward_. The Inventor had always lectured pleasantly about decorum, bearing, and table manners. Edward remembered every single word. _Be polite when asked to help, especially when a lady asks. Eagerness to work is a distinct sign of good breeding, Edward._

What Edward saw lying stone-still on the bed sent tremors up his spine, and a slight groan croaked in his throat. He wished he hadn't been of service today. What Edward saw was the boy from the alleyway, eyes shut, mouth shut, and body shut off to any soul it had once so carefully housed, long ago.

Dr. Potter hummed a cheery tune as he walked around the boy's deathbed, and he casually asked Edward to help him shut off the boy's monitor. Dr. Potter unobservantly, almost witlessly, flicked the deceased boy's life support off.

Edward Hands approached the bed, a bit afraid of what he would see laying on its surface.

"Is he...?"

"Oh," The doctor laughed, dryly, "Dead? Yes, yes, he's very dead, indeed."

Edward bowed his head, feeling the impact of death hit him hard, but Dr. Potter merely shrugged his comfy shoulders, unaffected.

"Ah, well, when you're a doctor, you become well acquainted with death...especially young death. These kids nowadays seem like they almost _want_ to die, you know." Dr. Potter took the chart off the boy's bed and wrote something on it, "I was like you, Edward...you know. I used to be so disturbed by death, but I was younger then... and I soon realized that death is everywhere," He laughed a little, "And if there wasn't death and disease, I'd be out of the job, wouldn't I?"

The doctor walked out, while spitting out a quick 'thank you and good-bye', but Dr. Potter stopped himself at the doorway and commented, "My boy, you're in the city now. You'll get used to death soon enough..."

His stomach frizzled and bubbled with nausea, _I hope I never do._ Edward prayed, feeling his glass eyes begin to ache and itch.

He slunk out of the room, his heart weak from the night's events, and sank deep into one of the waiting room seats, covering his face.

The first rays of peach colored morning sun slid gracefully out the hospital's windows, warming Edward who was under the golden rays of morning. But a cold shadow blocked the sunlight from his eyes, cooling down is baking face.

The mechanical man opened his eyes to see who was blocking the glorious morning sun, and the shadow was none other than the trenchcoat lady.

She was not actually wearing her dark trenchcoat anymore, but now wearing a new grey-green shawl—so she therefore, since such an article of clothing was no longer present on the woman, she became the 'shawl lady'. The shawl lady moved out of the sun's way and wearily sat next to Edward Hands.

The shawl lady was a plain young woman, the only striking feature about her were her eyes, and they _weren't _pretty eyes, just striking eyes. They were hard and solid, like gray marble, concealed behind a transparent barrier of small spectacles. Her mouth was red and sore-looking, and her plum pudding-brown hair was curly, springy, like copper coils. She wore a white and purple crucifix around her neck, and she had been given a new pair of golden-rimmed glasses.

"Thank you, Mr. Hands." The lady said, turning her head I his direction.

Edward frowned, slightly, for he could hardly recognize the lady without her trenchcoat. But when he did recognize her, it struck him that the shawl lady looked vaguely familiar. He nodded his head, in acceptance.

"I'm...well, I hardly can repay you for what you've done." The shawl lady continued, carefully, "But thank you..."

Edward nodded, weakly, and the rest was gladly left in silence. He turned his hollow gaze over to the dead boy's room, and something inside him crumbled and died away.

The shawl lady, to his utmost surprise, followed his gaze over to the room containing the dead young man. She froze, horrified.

"Oh, I see..." The shawl lady had a sad revelation, "The boy died?" Asked shawl lady, monotonously until the end, when her voice broke, sadly.

Edward whispered, "Yes."

The shawl lady bobbed her head up and down, gently, as she hid her face for a moment, and rubbed her shawl and her eyes together, "The poor mother—how will she be when she hears about all this?"

Edward shook his head, somberly, as his gaze drooped down to the tiled floor. The shawl lady bent her head down and she looked at the floor, too.

"You did everything you could, though. I did everything I could, the doctors did everything _they_ could." Shawl lady said, tightening her grip on her shawl, frustratedly, "Why...why do people...try _stupid _things like that? What was a boy like that doing in a nightclub, for goodness sakes? I mean, the boy was hardly seventeen, you realize..."

A policeman respectfully approached the two mourners, "Pardon me, ma'am," The policeman said, lowly, as he handed two letters to Edward and her, "If you would read these, please. They're just telling you that you'll have to appear in court—that you can't, under any circumstances, ma'am—and sir—leave Urban City without official approval."

"Yes, of course." The shawl lady said, reading the letter and handing Edward his. She pushed up her glasses again, irritably. "When is the court appearance?"

"That's still being decided, ma'am." The policeman says, giving a suspicious glare towards Edward. After all, Edward had saved the lady and the boy on strange terms, and people _do talk_...

"And you're free to go, but you'll be monitored by police, only as a safety precaution..." The policeman nodded, politely, and then went away.

Edward felt his heart sink into his stomach, and it wallowed there, painfully, for quite a long time. He had been caught again, he would be found out, and a whole monstrous world of horrific things would happen to him. Not to mention how infuriated Kennedy will be. This meant the end of normalcy...

While he was noiselessly brooding away, the shawl lady stretched, tiredly, and stood up to leave. The lady stared down at a depressed, heart-broken Edward; the shawl lady shivered, pulled her shawl closer.

"Are you going to stay?" She asked, politely.

Edward looked up at her and nodded his head.

"Are you..." The shawl lady said, civilly, "Do you have a home?"

The man swallowed, looked down at the turquoise floor and breathed, "I don't know."

"Um." She said, pushing her glasses up, carefully, "I see. Well, I'd be happy to help you. Do you need money? Um, food? Shelter?"

Edward shook his head and stared back down at the floor.

"Well, it's morning..." Shawl lady said, staring at her old wrist watch. She examined Edward, but not like other women—she looked at Edward with not a sly sort of pleasure, but with pity and, perhaps, a small chance of friendliness.

"I'm going to have breakfast tea soon...Would you care to join me?"

Edward saw no reason not to; he didn't want to stay, and he didn't want to go back—he might as well go forward—"Yes, please."

She grinned, victoriously, "Well, I think it's the least that I can do, really, Edward. Considering what you did for me and the boy..." She trailed off, sleepily, "Well. Let's be on our way then." She stopped herself "I haven't told you my name, have I? And here I am, talking away to you, and you don't even know me..." She confessed, obligingly. "I'm Victoria. Victoria Emerson, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

So the shawl lady was hereafter known and referred to as Miss Victoria Emerson.

* * *

**I am done with this chapter...(head falls on keyboard, and I blissfully fall asleep)**

**Ah, sleep.**


	13. Tea Time

Chapter—Tea Time 

To **butterflywings32—**Yes, agreed. Edward is not really a complete robot. But he's not a complete human either. He's a mix of both, betwixt and between. And thank you for the challenging statement! smiles

**Johnnydeppfanatic13**—Starry eyed Really? Oh, shucks! I'm blushin'! I feel honored, thanks! 

**AND THANK YOU CATHY, AGAIN**! I promise my Sleepy Hollow fiction will continue but I cannot force myself to write when I'm not inspired—believe me I have tried, and it only produces crap. Give me some time and I promise I'll give you a chapter as soon as genius burns.

* * *

**Edward** placed his coat next to him on the black velvet sofa. The room was unreasonably small, with only one huge window letting in a flood of foggy, silvery city daylight. The window was veneered with wood-brown dust, it had been cracked all over, like an Easter egg, and it had been taped up, making it look like an abstract painting. 

The sofa took up almost half of the drawing room, but this did not effect the regal elegance of the cozy, proud little lodging. There was a tiny metal fireplace at the other end of the room, with piles of black and white pictures, paintings, and dried flowers. It was a dusty, cramped little room, but it was welcoming and, somewhat, lazy. Edward smiled, comfortably, and sat back, letting the soft, caressing velvet rub against his back and arms.

The living room smelled like antique books... old, crispy...The gloomy gray sunlight shined through the unclean window, leaving a nice, womb-like glow passing the red curtains. The floor was covered with a comfy gentle-colored yellow carpet, the dark blue and black velvet sofa rested in the heart of the room.

Edward felt his vision blur and his eyelids sag down, sleepily. The night had most certainly been an eventful one, which had greatly taxed on his energy, but, along with that, the slow, molasses-like feel of the room assisted to lull Edward into a sort of trance. He couldn't sleep, not really—not like he had seen little Lucy do—so peaceful and oblivious, but he only, as Aunt Jill named it, "day dreamed".

He let his head droop down to his chest, and he felt his eyes close, letting the sweet warmth and friendliness of the den seep into his soul. He was really, very, very comfortable.

The mechanical man felt his chest swell up and he sighed, exhausted, letting the silence of the room envelop him. He had been accustomed to the ruckus, the temper tantrums, the arguments, and chaos of the Walters' home—and to the sleaziness, depression, and morally disturbing aura of Kennedy's apartment.

Here was unlike those places---so soft and silent—it reminded him of a library. There, Edward noticed to his confusion, was no TV or computer in her living room, just mountains of books and glittering religious symbols. Edward was glad of that, he had grown not to like TV programs—ever since Peg and Bill displayed obvious disgust with him watching it.

Victoria's nest was quiet and content. The smell of books came through his nostrils as Edward sighed once again, letting his tired head drop down even farther.

"Tea or coffee, Edward?" Victoria said, poking her frizzy head out of the petite kitchen doorway.

"Oh..." Edward said, lifting his head, opening out of his trance, "Tea, please..."

Victoria vanished into the kitchen, and he returned after a considerable amount of time with a tray of tea and scones.

_Let us pretend that we are in the drawing room and the hostess is serving tea. Now many numerous little questions confront us..._

Edward heard his father's voice whisper in his mind, like a dream, as he watched the steamy tea being poured into the blue teacups.

Many questions _did_ confront him, Edward noticed. How was he to hold the teacup? Was it ill mannered to eat some of the scones? How much tea should he drink?

Edward gulped, feeling his stomach bubble nervously. He hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself to his only friend in the city.

_Should the man rise when he accepts his cup of tea? _

Edward pondered if he should rise, but, hesitantly, decided against it.

_May lump sugar be taken with the things? Is it good form to accept a second cup? Now, should the napkin be entirely unfolded or should the center crease be allowed to remain?_

He felt his mind wander from the situation, and he forced his memory back to every detail about etiquette that had ever been bestowed in him.

_It is so easy to commit embarrassing blunders but etiquette tells us just what is expected of us and guards us from all humiliation and discomfort._

Humiliation and discomfort...Edward wanted desperately not to be awkward and uncommon—even though he had two beautiful, normal hands now...Edward still felt like he was different, "special"—but never in a good way.  
"Edward?" the lady said, "Not to worry—here, I'll just put sugar in. Sweetens the spirits, I say, and it tastes better in my opinion." 

Two crystal-white cubes were plunked into the warm brown tea, and they caused little brown bubbles to swirl clockwise in the little cup. Edward liked the way it looked.

Victoria put the teacup on the table, gingerly, careful not to spill it, and slid it closer to Edward. She grabbed her cup of misty tea and sat down on and creaky, oak chair across from the velvet sofa.

Victoria smiled, politely, and Edward returned the smile, sleepily.

"Thank you," Edward said, reaching for the tea.

Victoria sipped the tea, and let it sooth her throat. Edward followed her example, watching her every move, trying to copy her example. He'd never properly had tea before.

"Well, then." Victoria began, very mannerly, "Where are you from, Edward?"

"I'm—Canadian." Edward said, guilt audible in his voice. He felt terrible. He was already lying to his only city friend.

But this made Victoria's face grin and her eyes widened, enthusiastically, "Really? That's awesome, Edward. I've always wanted to go to Canada."

Edward tried to smile, but the guilt only made him feel more and more miserable.

"What is it like?" Victoria asked Edward.

Edward froze, stunned silent. He had never been to Canada, let alone know what it _was like.._. Lying was bad...He scolded himself for ever listening to Kennedy.

After a moment of silence, Victoria repeated her question, slightly concerned, "What is Canada like, Edward?"

Edward scolded himself again. He was making himself more stupid by the second. He remembered that he had once seen Canada on a map...and it was, what seemed to be, just a big patch of green.

"It's..." Edward struggled for some answer. "...it's very interesting."

"In what way?" Victoria asked, frowning.

"Um...It's...green..."

Mentally, Edward kicked himself.

"Oh?...oh...Oh, I see!" Victoria said, nodding her head, apparently understanding, "It must be great having all that nature around you. We never have any of that over here in Urban—it gets me depressed, all this concrete and glass. Even the parks are littered with trash over here. What part of Canada are you from, anyway?"

"Ottawa." Edward winced,regretfully...another lie...

"The capital? Wow. So...this is just curiosity, but what's the political situation like over there?" Victoria said, sipping some more tea.

"The...political situation?" Edward felt his heart sink; he hadn't a clue.

"You know—" Victoria encouraged. "Their situation on the war."

Edward frowned, shocked to the soul, "There's a war?"

Silence.

Victoria stopped in mid-drink as her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Edward felt that he had just said something incredibly stupid.

..._.Humiliation and discomfort..._

Victoria smiled but her eyes frowned, "Oh, I see. Not a political type, are you?"

"No..." Edward said—but it was, at least, not a lie.

"Well, that's okay. I grew up in a very un-political area... That's why I moved to the city, you know..."

Victoria was nice, Edward thought. She didn't make him feel like an idiot, unlike Isabel or Kennedy who always snickered when he said something or did something he wasn't supposed to.

Edward mustered the courage to say, "Where?"

"Suburbia. Let me tell you, it may be pretty and cute on the outside---but on the inside it's as hollow and as primitive as a rotten log." Victoria muttered, gulping down her tea.

Before Edward could stop himself, he said, "I came from Suburbia, too!"

"But..." Victoria said, frowning, "I—I thought you said you were from Canada, Edward."

Edward stared at his teacup, nervously.

"Oh, I see. You have relatives in Suburbia?" Victoria sighed, pouring some more brown tea into the blue teacup. "Small world."

"Uh huh..." Edward said, drinking his tea, quietly. But Edward was telling another lie—the world was actually vast and difficult and frightening...not small.

"Well, now..." Victoria put her teacup in her lap, and frowned in concentration, "To be honest, I didn't _always_ live in Suburbia...You see, when I was a little kid, six or seven, my parents passed away—and then I was sent to live with my aunt in Suburbia."

"I'm sorry." Edward said.

"For what?" Victoria asked, confused.

"Your parents." Edward said, sympathetically... almost pathetically. He knew what it was like to lose a parent—and he could only imagine how terrible it must be to lose, not one, but _two_ parents.

Victoria didn't seem at all sad, though. "I know they're in Heaven now, though."

Edward felt his brow frown. How was she so sure about this? People had acted like heaven was so close, real, and common that all you had to do was look up in the sky, squint your eyes, and look for angels. But Edward never saw any, and he was starting to wonder what people were _really_ talking about when they said those forbidden words; "death", "heaven", and "hell". Edward had never died, and he wondered how long it would be before he did...

"I was well cared for, don't worry, Edward. Auntie really was a wonderful guardian." Victoria said, smiling warmly, as she looked at her murky, slushy reflection in the teacup. , "And I'm blessed to have known Esmeralda, I believe."

One word stuck out of all the others, like a bleeding, swelling, and infected thumb. Esmeralda. Edward knew her—had known her—once.

"Esmeralda?" Edward whispered to himself, thoughtfully.

Esmeralda Emerson had made him nervous. Dreadfully nervous. She called him a "demon", a "devil", a "perversion of nature". She called Peg and Bill "sheep". But... Edward was never really _scared_ of Esmeralda; he mostly felt bad for the crazy lady. He felt like she was a milder version of himself, after all, she too had been a social outcast.

"Did you know her, Edward?" Victoria asked, surprised. She watched him for a moment. "No? Well, she was wonderful—though I am positive you have heard otherwise...People used to say she wasn't fit to keep a child, and they branded her a mental case, though she wasn't."

Edward frowned. From his understanding, Esmeralda actually –had- been a mental case.

"She _was_ odd, I'll admit, but I didn't mind her much. Behind her eccentricities, she was a very interesting person, actually." Victoria stirred her tea with a spoon; "Did you know that she was the _only _woman in that area of the 'burbs to actually have a job outside the home? She was one of the few women who practiced their right to vote, too, you know, but those were different times, weren't they?"

They definitely had been different times, Edward thought, as he sipped some of his tea, letting all the new information sink into his brain.

On a more cheerful note, Victoria inquired. "Do you like the city?"

Edward looked at Victoria and prepared to lie again, but he couldn't do it. Edward sighed softly and told the truth, "Not really."

"That's a shame to hear. Why?"

Edward felt a lie coming on, but he pushed it back and let the truth come forward, "It's strange. It...it makes me feel very alone."

Victoria blinked a few times and nodded her head, quickly, "As if you're in a room packed full of people, but you _feel_ like you're all by yourself?"

Edward looked up at Victoria, and jolted a little, for that was precisely how he felt. He nodded, while sipping some more tea.

"But, you know, Edward, the city's pretty nice if you go to the right places." Victoria advised, wisely, as she finished up her third cup of tea. She captured a scone from the tray and bit into it, letting the tiny crumbs fall down into her napkin.

Kennedy had said that he'd take Edward to the right places, and Edward wanted nothing to do with 'right' places anymore. But, simply out of politeness, he asked, "Where?"

"The museums, libraries, theaters, galleries—they're all great places." Victoria squinted her eyes, and frowned at Edward, skeptically, "You know, Edward, I think...I think the only reason you're so glum about being in the city is because you haven't had guidance on where to go."

She was entirely correct, and Edward knew it.

It took Edward some time before he could pry his mouth open and force words out, "Could you—? Could---you?"

"Show you where to go?" Victoria said, helpfully, chewing on her crumbly scone. "Of course, Edward."

Edward breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you."

"Well, considering what you did for _me_; it's really the least I can do." Victoria said to Edward.

"More tea?"

"Yes, thank you." Edward said, gratefully.

* * *

"Holy fucking shit, Edward! Where the fuck have you been? Damn this fucking...look where on the fucking earth have you been? Huh? C'mon!" 

"I'm... really sorry." Edward pleaded, trying to get into the apartment.

"Sorry? Oh fuck it, Edward! Fuck it all to motherfucking hell!" Kennedy shouted, as he raised his hand, as if to strike Edward.

Edward's eyes widened as he saw the fist rise higher and higher in the air.

"You're not even...worth it." Kennedy spat out, as he stormed off, got a beer from the fridge, and slumped on the coach.

"I'm sorry." Edward apologized, weakly, as he hardly knew what he had done, "Please forgive me, Ken."

"Oh, yeah." Ken hissed out, hatefully, "I'm sure you are, little...nevermind. Just—stay away from me for a couple of weeks, kay, Ed? I can't fucking...just, just stay away, alright?"

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

"I know. I know, okay? I just—fucking—can't...handle anything right now. I...Isabel and I broke up..." Kennedy said, flatly.

_What does that mean?_ Edward thought to himself, but he dared not ask.

"Just leave me alone." Kennedy croaked and for a split second, Edward thought he saw something like a tear slip down Dr. Ken Boggs' young face.

Edward nodded his head and quietly shuffled off to his room, while Kennedy downed his sorrows in the beer bottle and numbed his mind with the television.

* * *

A cold, wrathful stare spurted out of Victoria's spectacle covered eyes. 

Victoria grimaced, "Hello, Dr. Boggs."

No answer from Kennedy, just a shocked, angry stare gleamed from his optics. He stayed put, frozen to the ground in the kitchen. He slowly, cautiously spread jelly jam onto an English muffin, his eyes still furiously staring at Victoria Emerson.

Edward interrupted the tense staring contest as he was getting his coat on and lacing up his shoes. He smiled, innocently, at both of them, very oblivious to the obvious hatred the two people had for each other.

"You know her?" Ken asked Edward, darkly, as he poured milk into an orange plastic cup.

Edward nodded, happily, "She's going to show me the city."

"Oh, right..." Ken said, his voice getting deeper and darker by the second. "Well, hello, Vikki...Remember me? I'm that guy you harassed. Yeah, well nice to know you're living around here...maybe you can try and smash my head in again sometime, huh?"

Victoria said nothing, but her mouth began to get tighter and tighter until her lips were all scrunched up and pale. She looked like she was going to murder someone.

Edward looked back and forth between Victoria and Kennedy—he didn't understand what Ken was talking about. Why was Victoria looking so...dangerous and evil?

Kennedy laughed, dryly, as he wrathfully squinted his eyes at Victoria, "You put me through hell, you know that, hon? Every single fucking project, you and your little purity posse was there, screwing around with things. God, there wasn't one project you didn't protest! Saying you were going it for mankind's well being or whatever..."

"I had good reason to protest your projects, Dr. Boggs. Very good reason." Victoria said, under her breath, "You didn't even care that your project effected the Nepalese Maoist Rebellion! You're a selfish man. You took funding away from—"

"Pardon me, but you've obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a damn." Ken hissed, louder, "And, in case you have not noticed, my dear—I'm a broke, sad little bastard. I've learned my lesson already, okay, preacher?"

Victoria scoffed, haughtily, "Learned your lesson?" She looked down at the piles of empty beer bottles, "I'm sure... after that perversion of nature, that robot, you tried to rebuild. I remember...that thing sliced a man to bits, not to mention raped a woman...And you still helped it, didn't you?"

Edward frowned and his heart sunk down to his shoes. Victoria didn't even call him a person—she just said 'robot' and 'it'... so she was just like Esmeralda. Edward felt like someone had just cut out his stomach.

Kennedy looked at Edward, mischievously, "Do you know who Edward is, hmm? Ms. Emerson?"

Edward's eyes pleaded for Kennedy not to tell.

Victoria caught the glance and said, "Of course. Edward saved my life, and he is a good man. And I am still trying to piece together why exactly he is associated with you, Dr. Boggs."

Kennedy smiled a disgusting, sly smile. His brown eyes flared up.

"We're cousins."

Victoria raised her eyebrows, and her glasses slipped, clumsily, "Oh?" She said, quite surprised. "I knew I recognized you, Edward. Have you been to one of the protests?"

"In a way he has." Kennedy said, sharply.

"Well," Victoria growled, "I didn't ask you."

"Well," Kennedy smiled, sourly, "I don't really care."

"Do you know what? I would usually take offense at that, Dr. Boggs." Victoria said, taking Edward by the sleeve and pulling him towards the door, "But I will not cast pearls before swine."

"Oh, there you go with your Bible crap!" Kennedy's head snapped towards Edward and Ken hissed out a loud, meltingly angry voice, "Don't you dare let her near me, okay, Ed? She's more trouble than you think."

"Don't worry, Dr. Boggs," Victoria said, slowly and sickly, "I'll make sure I'm no where near you. Not that I'd want to be. Come on, Edward, let's let the man wallow in his own filth..."

With one yank, Edward was pulled out the door, and as soon as he was outside, the door was shut.

Kennedy scowled as he took a bite out of his breakfast and washed it down with milk.

* * *


	14. Edwardo the Gypsy

**Cathy**—Quite agreed, Cathy. I do think everyone should be given a fair chance at respect of religion. I respect Christianity a lot, and I, too, was rather embarrassed about Esmeralda. I don't care if a person is a Christian or a Wiccan...My theosophy is to be civilized and mannerly, even if you don't agree with someone's beliefs. I was put off by the way Esmeralda was portrayed (but it didn't spoil the movie at all!)...Sure, every religion has its "bad apples" but, hey, not all religious people are mean-spirited, hypocritical lunatics...and the ones who are...well, they're posers, frankly. I do hope my new character will set the record straight. 

("It seems all the rare, exceptional writers make the readers wait and wait and WAIT!" –Hehehe....we do it to make you **SUFFER! **MUHAHAHAHA!!!)

**Tonyboy**— Yes, I understand...Christians are _not _judgmental people. They're very understanding, actually. I'm not trying to make Christians—or any religion—seem bad. Quite the contrary, actually, my goal is to make the point that faith helps you veer away from people like Ken Boggs, Miss Maxwell, and so on. But, I wouldn't want to turn Victoria into a Mary Sue (God forbid!)...because I simply like her too much. She, like all people, must have faults, and anger and judgement are two of them. And, it is not her fault that she has her prejudices...she has been misinformed by many people. Remember, Edward left Suburbia with the impression that he had raped a woman, committed robbery, and purposely hurt a child—which was not true. But it is also not the fault of Victoria to believe these accusations, because, as far as she knows, they are perfectly true. You can't blame Victoria for her opinions, because she simply doesn't have the right facts. She's not a bad person. She wants to help Edward all she can.

P.S. No plans for a Joyce relative, and I doubt I ever will put one in, because it might be overkill to have any more descendents from the movie. I already have descendents from the Boggs and Emerson families...I don't think I could risk a Monroe! But, I do have Miss Maxwell—who is quite possibly the next best thing :)

**Over-dramatic**— Didn't see THAT one coming, didya? Did I surprise you? Hehehe...excellent, excellent.

**Chef13**— Well, I am so glad that you like my little continuation of the fable: ) Yes, it seems hard to continue after Edward gets his hands—but, actually, it's not really that hard. Edward is still different on the inside; therefore his troubles and trials will not end immediately after becoming like "everyone else". Actually, his troubles will only just begin... For example, he is unnaturally shy, and he has trouble expressing his feelings though words (though he does it magnificently though actions and face gestures!) And this leaves him venerable. Edward can be seen as a pushover to selfish people like Ken Boggs, and sexual prey by people like Miss Maxwell (and pretty much every other woman in Urban City, except for Victoria). On top of that, his only real friend, Victoria Emerson, has serious prejudices. (sigh) Nope, the poor bugger's troubles are just starting.

All other reviewers are greatly appreciated!

* * *

Not Even Human—Edwardo the Gypsy

* * *

"How do you live with that, Edward?" Said Victoria, shaking her head and smoothing out her trenchcoat.

Edward only stared down at he dirty floor of the hallway and shrugged. He saw no use in complaining, since he was already used to Kennedy and his ways. Plus, it was bad mannered to complain about _"one's own personal affairs, no matter how tiresome or terrible they are...it is just not gentlemanly to burden a lady with them..."_ The inventor had told him, once.  
  
"I'm sorry, Edward, I probably should've been more polite." Victoria confessed, "Your cousin and I have a vendetta, I'm afraid..." She sighed as she pressed the red elevator button, "Dr. Boggs and I have a sour history. I never harassed him, though...he was stupid enough to hit his head on one of the wooden protest signs, and he blamed me, since I was holding it. I only dropped it though, I swear."

"I believe you." Edward said, reassuringly. And secretly he thought that Kennedy probably deserved a whack on the head.

The elevator door opened. They both stepped inside, and Edward braced himself for the ride. He hated elevators...in fact, he disliked any kind of urban transportation. It went too fast, and it made him topple over most of the time. In Suburbia, he had only _just _fully become used to cars.  
  
Edward watched Victoria press the bottom floor button, and, after that, she put her hands in her pockets, calmly.

"Well, I knew I recognized you. Which protest did you go to, Edward?" Victoria said, bewildered, "Now, if I think hard about it I'll remember...I'm sure I saw you at one of them..."

To stop Victoria from thinking too hard on it, Edward lied. He was becoming more comfortable with lying now—though he knew it was very wrong. A wave of guilt washed over Ed.

"The one with the...robot." Edward said, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about.

"Oh, yes! Of course!" Victoria said, her face lighting up. She pushed up her glasses. "You're the man who got attacked weren't you, Edward? That thing—whatever it was—sliced your face open! I'm glad to see it's healed, though...That must have been completely terrifying." Edward only felt like he had made matters worse, and he slowly nodded his head. 

"It harassed my aunt once, you know, Edward. Practically scared poor Esmeralda to death." Victoria said, bitterly, as she sighed, "He was famous for his topiaries. Can you remember? No? Well, I guess I wouldn't either...we weren't even _born_, when this guy was around."

Edward wished the earth would just swallow him up. If only she _knew _who he was!

"Well, I'm going off subject—The point is that he once did a terrifying topiary of Satan, I remember Auntie telling me it took her years to recover from seeing it in her window, poor woman."

Ed felt his chest sink with quilt—He had forgotten about the devil topiary. He had been mad; he had let go of his self-control. Edward wished he hadn't been so rude and so inconsiderate, that night, with Esmeralda—and the rest of the neighborhood. He never meant to do them harm...

There was an awkward silence.

"Well, good thing it's dead now!" Victoria said, crossing her arms.

Edward closed his eyes and tried to forget what Victoria just said. If only she knew that 'it' was standing right next to her...

* * *

It was as if all his dreams had been jarred up in a bottle and splattered on a piece of paper. Edward looked up at the colossal painting, in awe. He had to bend his neck upward just to get the full effect of it.

_A painting_

"Now, I don't care what Dr. Boggs will tell you, Edward." Victoria whispered, in equal awe as Ed, "But..._this_—this is culture. Real culture, real emotion, real society."

_An art museum, culture, society, emotion_...Real...That is exactly what Edward wanted; to be real, or, if he couldn't be real, he would pretend to be.

"This is done on oil canvas, which is a good choice by the painter, I think." She commented, examining the painting closely, "But, I'm surprised! It doesn't look like a typical eighteenth century painting...Look how the brush—swipes up and down like that, and then curls. It's simply beautiful, really."

Victoria seemed to know everything. Honestly, Edward felt rather idiotic. He never knew what to say about things.

It was an interesting place, the Museum, and much cleaner than _Club_ _9_ had been. Much more quiet, too, and Edward didn't feel pressured to talk too much here.

Victoria turned her head, smiled, and started walking over to another piece of art. Edward tore his eyes off the magnificent painting, and followed his companion, dazed and, slightly, refreshed by "culture".

Victoria continued smiling, admiringly, at the new painting, as if it were an old friend. She sighed, happily. "Well, what do you think of this one, Edward?"

It wasn't the prettiest painting in the gallery, and not the largest, but it held a certain charm that cheered Edward up.It was a simple painting, and it looked ridiculous compared to the others in the room. But it was a relief to rest your eyes on something small.

Edward nodded his head, "It's nice."

Victoria seemed genuinely fond of art, and Edward soon grew fond of it, too. He was already starting to notice the differences in brush strokes, the shades of colors, the shapes, the scales, and the symbolism.

The two shuffled along the assembly line of pictures, glancing here and there at a few, but one struck the ultimate attention of both of them. They both paused, reverently.

It was a painting of a slave ship being thrown around in orange-gold waves. Fish squirmed under the violent water, and you could almost feel the blaze of the scorching sun come out of the painting and onto your face. The slave ship was a dark brown and seemed to reek a certain foreboding; the ship loomed oh-so evilly in the background, like a panther waiting for its prey.

"Sometimes in life, it seems like everything and everyone is conspiring against having peace, doesn't it, Edward?" Victoria said, half to herself, half to Edward. 

This confused Edward, and he wondered why Victoria had said something so random.

"...Yes?" Edward answered.

These were the sort of questions his inventor used to ask him. "Ethical" questions; "Deep" questions—

_She's talking about the painting... and peace, life. Oh. Now I see. _Edward smiled to himself, rather proud that he figured it out and was able to comprehend it.

Victoria Emerson turned toward Edward, and looked like she was going to ask something—but she merely shook it off and smiled, in her usual polite way. Again, Victoria opened her mouth, turned back to Edward, but she shook it off again and smiled.

Curiously, Edward asked, "What is it, Victoria?"

She pushed up her glasses and sighed, "Do you have a job, Edward?"

The question startled Edward, as he had not really expected something like that. He, actually, hadn't known what to expect, but...not this; not about something so off topic. He looked at his friend, with a slightly blank stare.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I only thought that... You seem so...forgive me for saying this—you seem so dependent on your cousin." Victoria said, "I just thought that, um, you could be a bit more independent from Dr. Boggs. He's...not a man to be...relied upon."

That was true. Ken wasn't the trustworthiest person Edward had met...but then again, he hadn't thought of escaping Kennedy's influence. Edward was used to being told what to do, and doing it.

"Oh," Edward said, softly.

"I shouldn't have said that, it was impolite, and—"

"You're right." Edward interrupted. That was rude and also a _faux pa_. He blushed.

"Oh...Well, good! A man needs to get out there in the world and work. It's better than doing nothing and feeling sorry for yourself, in my opinion."

This was all true. Edward's last few weeks in the city had been horrible. He had felt so useless. He had almost longed for the Walters' Family come in and boss him around—just so that he could _do something_. He had started to feel his arms and legs start to rust, from lack of use.

But Victoria knew what she was talking about.

"You don't want to be a gypsy all your life, Edward." Victoria said, "It's good to be financially stable, not to be a parasite. Not that I'm saying you're a parasite, of course, you're the exact opposite. You just need encouragement."

It took him some time to understand what she meant, but when he did, he smiled back. "No...You're right."

Edward felt, for the first time in weeks, that he was learning something useful. He felt like he was going to be able to do something...not just to be laying around like one of Lucy's old rag dolls. He sighed and inhaled, hopefully—

"You're right." He said, nodding his head, slowly.

* * *

Victoria and Edward both agreed that another drink was in order. So, they walked over to the nearest coffee shop. Things were quite pleasant, actually, until a familiar character came in—

Miss Maxwell was a bewitching woman, no doubt about it. The devilish little siren cast her deadly spell on many a defenseless man, and rendered them rather useless and weak for the rest of their lonely lives. Perhaps it was the way she talked, or the way she walked, but she ensnared them every single time into her web of dark seduction.

Except Edward, of course. He ran away.

Miss Maxwell wore a very skimpy red dress that accented all her best features. Miss Maxwell's slim hourglass figure hovered over to an unsuspecting Mr. Hands and Miss Emerson. She tossed her glossy hair out of her shining, diamond-like eyes...and her irresistibly red lips smiled, plumply.

"Well, well, well." Colleen Maxwell cooed, putting her elegant hand on Edward's shoulder, "If it isn't the boy who'd rather run than kiss..."

Edward jolted and looked up; he thought he was going to have a heart attack.

"Excuse me?" Victoria said, frowning.

Miss Maxwell's eyes fell onto Victoria, as if she hadn't noticed her. "Who the hell is this ugly bitch, Ed?"

Edward frowned, wishing he could make Miss Maxwell leave.

Miss Maxwell laughed and squeezed Edward's shoulder, happily. She frilled her dress and made sure cleavage was showing. The dress was a magnet for the eyes of every man in the coffeehouse.

She bent down, and whispered in Edward's ear, "I still want you, Edward." She said, tracing his jaw with a sharp finger nail, "Just to let you know, honey...Let's hang out some time, kay? We'll have a fun time."

Edward felt the back of his neck get warm, his stomach tightened, and his face grew hot, with embarrassment and confusion. Miss Maxwell stroked his face a bit more, with seductive lure, and then she got up.

Miss Maxwell stooped down again and slowly kissed Edward on the cheek, alluringly, leaving a red-hot crimson print of her lips on his pale face. Victoria raised her eyebrows and sipped some of her tea, observing the kiss disapprovingly.

Edward had the strangest desire to turn his head slightly and let Miss Maxwell kiss him full on. He stopped himself. How could he be thinking that way? Miss Maxwell was a terrible, seductive, toxically vulgar young woman. _But... _her lips felt so warm, so silky. Part of him didn't mind the sizzling kiss on his cheek. Edward bit his tongue, trying to snap himself out of it—

Miss Colleen Maxwell wrote down her number on a napkin, smiled mockingly at Victoria, put on her sunglasses, and left Victoria and Edward alone.

"Who was that?"

Edward blushed, feeling his throat dry up, "No one."

"Oh?" She said, "Please, don't lie, Edward. She was _someone_. A girlfriend of yours?"

Edward felt his face become baking hot. He hardly knew what a girlfriend was in the first place, but he shook his head, knowing that he wasn't a friend of this girl—and nor did he want to be, after that night at the club.

"Oh." She sounded surprised, "Then who?"

"I...." Edward whispered, ashamed, "I don't want to talk about it, please."

Victoria raised her eyebrows and nodded, "Oh, I see now. All right, nevermind then. I won't bother you about it."

Edward nodded, thankfully. He was glad that she didn't want to go into depths about what happened with Miss Maxwell and him. Edward rubbed the smooth red paste Miss Maxwell had planted on his face with a napkin.

Victoria laced her hand through her curly, frizzy brown hair, "It's because our whole society is obsessed with sex."

Edward blushed. He didn't know what sex was exactly, but he knew lots of girls wanted to, according to Ken, "screw" him. That confused him. Honestly, some girls made him have feelings that he, frankly, didn't have a clue about. But Victoria didn't make him feel like that, and he enjoyed being around her, instead of being nervous and confused.

"Well, it's true, Edward! You don't have to be embarrassed or anything, it's just a fact. A very, very disturbing fact." Victoria said, "We just don't seem to understand decency anymore..."

She paused and looked around, "See, there, for example." She pointed to a poster on the wall, "We can't even buy a cup of coffee without seeing someone half naked."

Victoria was right. The woman on the poster was definitely half naked, with only the steams of the coffee barely covering her up. Realizing this, Edward only blushed more—really, he thought, if he blushed any more, he'd burst into flames.

"I mean, I know everyone has faults. I have my own sins. My anger is one of them—" Victoria said, sipping her tea, "I've made mistakes. I'm not trying to be hypercritical. But, look, how is this going to affect the younger generation? They're growing up around all of this...flaunted sexuality. People are being taught that physical appearance is everything—not self-control, common decency, and faith. But what happens when you get older? When you're not "beautiful" anymore... you just lose you're meaning in life."

Edward thought about what she said. Life was quick and cruel, Victoria was right—Kim had changed, and she had been so _different_ before. So, so different.

"See? There's just no foundation...it's baseless and soulless." Victoria said, looking at Edward. "That's why we need faith."

He had never fully understood religion, theology, and spirituality. The Inventor had only just starting talking about it, before he died. Edward felt his head go dizzy from an overload of information, questions, and confusion. She was going too fast.

Edward's mind went blank. Why was he so confused?

Victoria smiled and said, "Well, I like religion, obviously. It's food for thought...it gives people meaning." She looked at Edward, and sighed, "Are you okay?"

Edward nodded, sipping his tea, "I'm just thinking."

Her smile sobered. She was looking up at the clock, and was starting to frown.

"Oh, I got to get going, Ed..." She said, putting on her gloves, "I've got to get over to IPITAE. We're having a meeting in..." She looked at the clock, and her face went pale, "...we're having our meeting right now."

Victoria Emerson muttered something under her breath. She must have really been enjoying herself; Victoria was never late for meetings. It was just that Edward was such a nice guy, so truthful, and such a good listener—she would've talked to him more, if she had the time.

Then, Victoria had an idea.

"Hey, Edward, are you doing anything after this? Maybe you could come along with me to IPITAE." She said, excitedly, "I'm sure you'd love it!"

Edward smiled, glad that he had an excuse not to go back to Kennedy. "Okay..."

"Oh, wonderful!" Victoria grinned, "Really, you'll love it, I'm sure!"

Edward was happy she was happy—but he wasn't sure what IPITAE was exactly. He asked what it was, as he threw away the paper coffee cups.

"International Protests of Inhumane Treatment of Animals and Environment." She said, confidently, "You'll be fascinated, believe me. Some of the stuff we're working on right now is just fantastic..."

"Oh..." Edward said, unsure of himself, "It sounds nice."

She nodded, eagerly, and assured him that it was 'very nice'. Off they went.

* * *

IPITAE was interesting enough, Edward guessed. It was a small building with lots people running around with papers, cell phones, coffees, and campaign advertisements. A few people were typing things, busily, on their laptops and screaming out orders to the others. It was hard not to be a little intimidated by it.

After the meeting, which had been rather long, Victoria had introduced Edward to some of her fellow workers. They were nice, but a little stressed—some of them looked like they hadn't slept in days.

"Hey, Ed, we need a guy to help us post these..." Offered a co-worker. He held up some signs. "Do you think you could lend a hand to us tomorrow, huh?"

Victoria smiled, widely, "What do you think, Edward? Do you want to come? Only if you _want to_, of course."

He wasn't busy tomorrow. He had all the time in the world, literally, and—He shivered. Screams, yells, blood, signs, police, anger...

Ed remembered the last protest he went to. A protest against himself...

Did he really _want _to go? He had a bad habit of getting into tough situations. But Victoria would protect him, no doubt. She was a good friend; she wouldn't abandon him. And plus, the protest wasn't against _him._

Victoria seemed to like protests. She liked art, too, and art was good. Why couldn't a protest be good also? And, best of all, it would be an excuse not to put up with Dr. Kennedy Boggs for a whole day.

He said, politely, "I'd be happy to come."

The co-worker smiled, "There's a good boy! We always need young guys like yourself to get involved."

Edward did his best to smile, and Victoria handed him a pile of posters.

"Good choice, Edward," Victoria encouraged, "You're doing the right thing."

Finally, Edward thought, he was doing something right. Or was he? 

* * *

She was blond, tall, blue-eyed, wearing tight-fitting pink and black clothes, long-legged like a flamingo—if there were two words to sum this girl up, it would be this: Airhead bimbo. 

Victoria looked at Kennedy and his bimbo, repulsed. She frowned and shook her head, putting her head in her gloved hands. Edward stood behind Victoria, as he walked into Kennedy apartment.

Victoria and Edward had planned to come up to the apartment, talk about tomorrow, and then say farewell for the night. But...they hadn't expected to find Kennedy and this new girlfriend like this.

"Have you no self-control...? Chastity? Purity?" Victoria ranted, clearly enraged, "Do they mean anything to you? They should!"

"Oh, fuck off, will you?" Kennedy ranted back, just as enraged. "It's not Sunday yet, you know, preacher! Stop the sermon...."

Victoria's eyes narrowed, and so did Kennedy's—they were two time bombs, just waiting to explode. Edward and Ken's newly acquired girlfriend slowly drifted away from the two strong-willed, strong-voiced quarrelers, and watched them, worriedly, from afar.

"Well. No doubt she's not the first one you've done this with." Victoria said, gesturing towards the long-legged blond next to Edward.

Ken watched, with eagle eyes, as his girlfriend slowly—but surely—moved closer and closer to an unsuspecting Edward. Ken cursed his luck. In no time, if his girlfriend had it her way, she'd be shagging Edward senseless in the next room, and he'd be left discussing the finer points of moral with Victoria. This sucked.

"Look I don't want to fight—"Ken made an excuse to get Victoria out of his hair.

"_Right._" Victoria scoffed, "Suddenly, you're the peacemaker? Do you know what, Kennedy Boggs? You're full of it."

The girlfriend got close enough to Edward as she wanted, smiled at him sweetly, made sure that he saw some of her best curves, and then strutted over to Kennedy.

"Um," The girlfriend said, twisting a strand of her blonde hair with one finger, "Ya know, Ken, um...I gotta get going, babe, so, uh...call me, kay?"

"Yeah. Bye, Brit," Kennedy said, but he caught her arm, gently, and pulled her back. He kissed her, long and deep—just to spite Victoria.

Brit the Girlfriend giggled, flipped some of Ken's hair, playfully, and sashayed out the door.

Victoria snorted, and shook her head. "Unbelievable. She has no respect for herself."

"Yeah, you're just jealous." Ken laughed.

"Of her?" Victoria almost burst out laughing, "Of _...that_ person? Oh, sure, you caught me there...I'd love to be considered a piece of ass."

Ken laughed some more, "You know you would! C'mon, even Christians have sex drives, you know..."

Victoria sighed, and she gave Kennedy Boggs a look of pity, "Perhaps, Dr. Boggs, your whole purpose in life is to serve as a warning to others."

"Bullshit." Ken snorted, "Perhaps yours is to annoy the hell out of everyone."

Victoria's face reddened, and she clenched her fists. But, instead of smashing Ken's face in, Victoria controlled her anger, prayed, counted to ten, smoothed out her trenchcoat, and then said, pleasantly:

"Good bye, Edward. See you tomorrow at the protest. I'll pray for you."

Edward looked like he didn't want to be left alone with Ken Boggs today, but Victoria didn't want to be around the man either. She wanted to leave.

"Good bye, Victoria..." Edward said, politely, as he watched her leave.

The door closed, and Ken chuckled, demonically. "Good riddance, bitch..."

"... Don't call her that." Edward said, under his breath, in his friend's defense.

You could hear a pin drop, it was so quiet. Edward never talked back. Never, ever. Kennedy talked back, and it never had the same bone-chilling effect. Edward didn't understand the slang Ken used, but he knew that "bitch" was not something to call a nice, friendly person. Victoria Emerson was _not _female dog.

Ken thought to himself, _She's done this to Edward. I knew it. She's trouble. _He tried to shrug it off, coolly.

"Jesus Christ, not you, too, Ed." Ken said, disappointedly.

Edward blushed, ashamed, "I'm sorry. I..."

"Look, I don't like her, Ed." Ken said, bluntly. "She's doing things to your head. I don't like her..."

"Why—?" Edward asked, confused. Victoria was a great friend, when Kennedy wasn't around.

"Well, for starters, she dresses like a librarian."

That, Edward thought, was not much of an excuse. Besides, Edward liked what Victoria wore. She looked more comfortable and adjusted than some other women. And, plus, Edward never knew how to react to women in scanty clothes...

"Listen, Ed, I don't think you should be around... a person like her."

"But she's a friend."

"Okay, I understand but...Victoria's not good even to be friends with, Eddie."

"Why?"

"Because..." Ken sighed, as he straightened his back and prepared for a lecture, "People like her, they, well, they mean one thing, Ed—One thing: trouble."

"...Trouble?" Edward repeated, quietly. _Victoria's nice. A little scary but...not trouble..._ Edward thought, but he stopped himself from saying it out loud. What on earth was he talking about? Edward started to frown, and he turned his head away from Kennedy.

"C'mon, Ed, didn't you hear what she _said _about you?" Kennedy said, accusingly, "What was it again...'Perversion of nature'? Imagine if she ever found out about you."

Kennedy walked over to the sofa, unwrapped an old bag of chips, and started munching on them, "Just get a real girl, Ed.. Just...I don't want you seeing her again."

* * *

"He said _what?_" Victoria's voice shrieked over the phone, making Edward wince away from it for a second.

"He said I couldn't—"

"I know, I heard what you said, Edward, I just can't believe that ignoramus thinks he can boss you around!" Victoria fumed, her voice hissed and sizzled on the phone.

There was a pause, as Victoria caught her breath. Edward bit his lip, unnerved by Victoria's anger...he knew she wasn't angry at _him—_butstill, it was really quite frightening.

"Edward, come on!" Victoria said, forcefully, "Ken Boggs is living proof that man can live without a brain! _Defend_ yourself, for goodness sakes! Tell him to bug off—you aren't a child!"

Edward was taken aback.

"He is not your mother, Edward!" She continued, "What _right_ does he have to say that to you?"

Kennedy had every right, technically. After all, Dr. Boggs had gone through all that trouble and sacrifice to finish Edward. To go against Kennedy would be betraying him, his second inventor, and Edward never wanted to betray someone he was in so much debt to.

But, still, something inside Edward told him that Victoria had a good point...

"Edward, that's it." Victoria said, almost in a normal tone of voice, "I'm coming over."

The line clicked, and a low beep hummed inside the telephone. 

* * *

**Oh, my....**

**I hope Kennedy has life insurance. **

**MORE Coming...As soon as possible!

* * *

**


	15. Protests and Tea Afterwards

**Butterflywings32— **....(slaps Kennedy Boggs and beats him with a stick) Torturing Ken is fun! (sees human rights inspectors and throws stick away) Anyhooters... thank you for the nice review! I really appreciated it, thank you. Victoria is a good friend to Edward, and I am still debating with myself how she'll react....and, _yes_, Edward is certainly a _sexy, sexy_ perversion of nature. (drools)

**AlanisJunkie**— Yay! Thank you! You enjoy my story! (throws confetti and dances)

**Chef13**— (smiles wickedly and cracks whip...Ken whimpers) Yes, well, Ken will be...taken care of, I assure you. Oh, and thank you for writing Kennedy's eulogy...

_Kennedy_: What eulogy? Why do you have a coffin in the backyard?...Holy hell, is that a funeral?

_Me: _... (grins) You'll see.

**Over-dramatic-05**—(tears in eyes) Poor Eddie... Thank you, I am glad that I was able to get a somber note across. I can't make his transition into "normal city life" all too easy for him, but I do think Victoria is a great help to him (when she's not talking about "Scissorhands"). For all Victoria knows, she's _comforting _Edward, not hurting him. If only she knew...

**Cathy**— No offence could possibly be taken by an inquiring mind! A Mary Sue is a nickname for an extremely superficial, fake character. For example, if I made Victoria out to be a ravishingly beautiful eighteen-year-old girl, with no character flaws, perfectly fashionable clothes, and a hot body—_that _would be a prime example of a Mary Sue. "Practically perfect in every way." Might be another way to put it—But Victoria is none of those things. She's my attempt at a normal young woman. She's not perfect, she's terribly flawed, and she's no super model. She doesn't mean any harm, but sometimes her frankness can bring the wrong message across. I bet she even cares about Kennedy's situation a little—Yes, things are never as they seem. Even Esmeralda wasn't as she seemed—she was the only one besides Kim to show her true first impressions of Edward. She didn't cover up her emotions with a smile, but she instead let Edward know how she felt about him head-on. It can be interpreted as a cruel welcoming...but at least it was an honest one. The neighborhood basically put on a show of kindness—as Tim Burton so correctly put it "It's all face value", and because of this, their rejection of him at the end caused all the more pain for Ed.

**Carla**— Sorry! I've had my hands tied lately...and my writings have been starved for a while. But I am so glad you like the story!

**Tonyboy**—I am happy you liked it, Tony! And, no worries, Edward's going to get a LOT of practice for speaking up for himself. It's nice hearing "take your time". From some reviewers, I usually hear "hurry up!" or "what's taking you so long?!"—that's just not the way I work. I take my time. I am very grateful for them telling me how much they like the story, but I am not a speedy writer. So that's why it's so nice hearing "take your time". Thank you!

* * *

Not Even Human—Money, Police, and Fast Food

* * *

**Kennedy **Boggs got up late that day...Late for work again, and feeling a major hangover. He groggily lifted himself out of bed, and collapsed on the floor. Wobbly, he got himself off the wooden, trash littered floor, and sighed.

Edward was already up, as always. Ed probably had been up for at least four hours by now... C_urse him_, thought Kennedy, wrathfully, as he prepared breakfast for himself. Kennedy spied on Edward and saw that he was reading a book. _Curse him again! _Dr. Boggs' mind snarled, hatefully. Edward was becoming more human than Kennedy was... _curse him_...

Really, he didn't necessarily want Ed to be cursed. It was just that Ken's life had been so hard lately—Isabel breaking up with him, the new job, the taxes, the cell phone bills, the hangover, and, a new problem, Victoria Emerson. At least, Victoria was out of the picture now.

Ken grumbled a sharp, "Morning."

"Good morning, Ken." Edward replied, absentmindedly, as he flipped through a novel.

After a long pause, Dr. Kennedy Boggs asked, tiredly:

"What you got there?"

No answer...only the smooth sound of a page turning.

"Hey, Ed..." Ken pushed, louder, "What you got there?"

Edward sat up on the couch and turned his attention to Kennedy, "A book."

"You into that kind of stuff now?" Ken said, narrowing his eyes. _Ed never gave a damn about books before...Victoria. Victoria must have done that to him, of course. _

Ed nodded, put his nose in the book, and lazily sank down into the couch. Ken sighed, Edward's mouth was shut—just the way it should be. He had to admit, it was scary the way Edward, a machine, could develop opinions and habits so quickly. Sometimes, it actually frightened Dr. Boggs.

Ken lethargically went off to his room, dressed, brushed his teeth, tied his tie, and when was setting off for work—someone knocked on the door. He looked through the peephole, and saw a bubbled version of Victoria's face glaring at him. Dr. Boggs hissed, frustratedly.

He turned, angrily, on Edward, "I thought you said you called her!"

Edward frowned, "I did."

"Then," Ken growled, "_Why_ is she outside my door?"

Edward was starting to dislike Ken more than ever. Besides, Dr. Boggs was trying to take away his one friend away from him. Why couldn't he have a friend? Edward felt a zap of anger rush through him.

Edward got up from the sofa, and looked out the peephole.

Ken yelled, "See? See! God...this woman doesn't know when to stop!"

Then, Edward had an idea—Why not disobey Ken, just once? It would give him a "taste of his own medicine", as Molly Walters would've put it.

Ken's face morphed into terror, as he saw Edward unlock the door. Dr. Boggs was paralyzed. Did Edward know what Victoria would do? ...Then, horror-struck, Ken realized that Edward _did_ know what Miss Emerson would do, and that was _exactly why_ Ed was unlocking the door!

She stormed in, looking like a lioness let out of her cage.

Victoria roared, "Dr. Boggs, w_ho_ do you _think_ you are?"

Ken shrieked, "You, get off my property!"

Dr. Boggs looked like a coward, a tiny mouse, trapped in Victoria's malevolent gaze. Edward had just betrayed him, and Victoria's anger was in full force. She began to circle him, like a vulture would circle its dead prey.

"It's partially Edward's property, too!" Victoria argued, pulling herself up to her full height, "And—!"

Ken found his voice again. "Well, Edward wants you to leave!"

"How _dare_ you put words in Edward's mouth!" She screamed, "You are an oppressive, abusive man who picks on innocent people like him for personal gain!"

"Well, you're a heinous bitch! _Is _that any better?" Ken fumed, wanting to strangle her.

Edward wished he hadn't opened the door. He had let two very angry people be together, which, as he knew, never turned out well. They were screaming, insulting, and spitting at each other now.

"Instead of being born again, Dr. Boggs, why don't you just grow up?" Victoria Emerson spat.

"Listen," Ken spat back, cruelly, "Get out of my house or—."

"No _you_ listen, Dr. Boggs—Stop bossing Edward around like he's some kind of little child." Victoria hissed, "I am _sick _of the way you push him around!"

Ken stood there, glaring at Victoria. He looked like he was going to explode. Victoria smoothed out her wrinkled trenchcoat, pushed up her glasses, and sniffed, defiantly. "...You make me sick, physically sick..." She said, softly, "You're a sick, sick man, Ken Boggs. You need help."

Kennedy mumbled, "_Pfft!_ You Christians are so obnoxious..."

"That's very offensive!" Victoria said, crossing her arms.

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry." Kennedy mocked, "...Well, can I ask you something, Vikki?"

She shot a look at him, and hissed, quietly, "Victoria, please."

"Whatever." Ken Boggs snarled, "Can I ask a question?"

Ed silently rooted for Victoria in this battle of the wits. He only wished Victoria would win; Edward knew that he would never be clever or bold enough to defend himself like this.

Ken Boggs growled, "You know, Victoria, I probably know way more about religion than you."

Victoria looked him up and down, "Okay, explain the theory of transubstantiation."

Kennedy blankly stared into nothing. He was dumbfounded but grew very angry, with the realization that he _didn't_ know a thing about religion. Victoria's face split into a wide, wild grin. She had won.

"That's probably some Christian bullshit." He yelled, his eye twitching.

"No, it's a Catholic term, actually." She said, smoothly.

Ken exploded, "They're all the same!"

"No they're not. You obviously don't know a thing about religion." Victoria said, "Don't call me a hypocrite, when you claim to be religiously learned and yet don't know the basics. I've studied other religions, too, Dr. Boggs. I've done my homework. _You're _the one making _me_ uncomfortable with my lifestyle. _You're _the one who is small minded."

"You people are always pointing the fingers, aren't you?"

"Someone has to do it, Dr. Boggs."

Kennedy snorted and shook his head... He felt his hangover throb, his leg ached, and he was late for a business meeting. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he'd lost this battle.

"It's too early in the morning for this bullshit..." Kennedy slicked out his brown hair. "Get out of my house, both of you."

Victoria and Edward exchanged a triumphant look. Miss Emerson beamed, and Edward looked on, proudly. Kennedy felt like punching Edward in the face— Edward not only betrayed him, but also was _proud_ of betraying him! The damn traitor...

"Get help, Dr. Boggs." Victoria said, almost concerned, as she walked out with Ed. "Get help."

Dr. Boggs' eyes flamed with hatred, "Any more advice, Your Holiness?"

Victoria stopped at the doorway, and she looked back at Ken, pityingly. She sighed and nodded her head, sorrowfully. "Yes, in fact, here it is—"Victoria whispered, "Be more like _Edward_."

* * *

"_What_ do we want?"

"Justice!"

"_When_ do we want it?"

"Now!"

The mantra repeated over and over again, until the words meshed together. People walked in circles around a concrete building, waving signs, giving speeches, and linking arms in protest. It was strangely uplifting and very scary at the same time.

Edward wasn't sure he could do this. He felt like turning around and... he couldn't go back. He didn't _want _to go back. Kennedy would kill him, probably. But, then again, Edward did not want to go forward into a screaming crowd either.

"Victoria?" Edward said.

"Yeah, Edward?" Victoria sounded excited, "What's up?"

Edward glanced at the crowd in front of them, then to Victoria, and then to the large protest sign he was holding.

"Oh, don't get worried, Ed! It's not dangerous. Just stick around me, and—" She looked at Edward, "And—remember if one of those pesky TV anchor women start asking questions about why we're protesting the company...you say..."

"...that it is connected with TechMet?" Edward recited, quietly, while Victoria nodded her head, "It gives growth hormones to animal farms...and that its foods spread _E. coli?_"

He felt rather out of breath, as he rarely said such a long sentence, even though the sentence was broken.

"Perfect, Edward. Perfect." Victoria encouraged, "That's all you need to say. C'mon...don't worry. It should be fun."

Before Edward could stall more, Victoria pulled him right into the crowd. It was weird, but Edward didn't find this all that fun. He was scared, but Victoria was going to stay by him. He knew that. People were packed all around the building, making it hard to follow Victoria. He grabbed onto the loose belt of her trenchcoat and tried to let that guide him.

Victoria yelled behind her, "Raise your sign, Edward! Rise! The CEO's coming! Hurry!"

What was a CEO? That didn't matter. Edward slowly raised his protest sign in the air, to join the hundreds of other ones. A few well-built, well-dressed men circled by policemen tunneled through the crowd. And then Victoria did something: She stopped in front of the gentlemen.

"Stop selling these things to children!" She screamed, "Why are you targeting your products to children, when it gives them diseases? Last year spread to over—!"

"I thought there was a restraining order!" One of the CEOs yelled to a cop, "The protestors can't be crowding the streets like this! I'm calling more cops."

Before Victoria could finish her rant, a policeman shoved her aside as the CEOs and businessmen squirmed into the building. The building's doors were then tightly locked and the protestors simmered down a bit. Victoria Emerson lowered her sign and, sadly, looked up at Edward.

"They don't get it!" She said, loudly, "They _never _get it!"

She shook her head and sighed, frustratedly. Edward didn't really know how to comfort her in this situation, but he did his best to gently pat her on the back.

"Thanks, Edward, it's just...it's so hard trying to get these people to understand, you know?" Victoria said, looking up at a concerned Edward, "They never listen to reason and—!"

Sirens, blue and red lights, and men in light blue suits and checkered hats immediately invaded the mob. _Police...._Edward became paralyzed with fear.

"Police!" Some people yelled. Some people ran away, frightened to be caught, and others instead went directly up to the officers and tried to state their case.

Victoria's eyes widened as she saw the police come closer around the protestors. She grabbed Edward's hand and led him in the opposite direction. He had no objections of getting out of there as soon as possible.

"We'd better leave, Edward." She said, as they quickly walked their way out, "Things tend to fall apart after the police arrive."

He nodded his head, and they both ran out, the mob screaming and the sirens shrieking behind them.

* * *

Victoria slunk down in a coffeehouse seat and sulked. Edward sat across a sorrowful Victoria and gave her a cup of tea.

"Well, that was disappointing."

"No...It wasn't that bad." Edward said, shaking his head, "I...had fun."

Victoria laughed, and shook her head. "Don't lie, Edward...It was terrible. We didn't even get a TV interview. I was a disaster."

Edward said, "...It was a little."

Victoria looked down at the cup and shook her head.

"Thanks for the tea, Edward." She mumbled, tiredly.

Honestly, Edward thought she needed something to calm her down, and tea usually did the trick. He smiled to let her know she was welcome. There was a short silence as Victoria sipped her tea.

"Money. It's all about the money." She said, shaking her head.

_No credit, no record of jobs you've held, no savings, no personal investment, no social security number. You may as well not even exist. There is no collateral._ A bank teller had once told him and Peg Boggs.

Yeah, it was all about the money. Edward knew that all too well.

"I mean...they go put animals in cages so small that they become deformed. When they start to grow, their bodies grow into the shape of the cage. Farm cows basically live in a closed, dark world the whole lives. They never see a blade of grass. Cows get fed cow...I mean, that's why we have mad cow disease. It's horrendous. It's...just not right." Victoria said, "And it's not doing us any good...we become sick from the diseases these cows get when they live in those conditions. They put these poor animals through hell, just to save a few bucks..."

Edward never knew that. He felt guilty for ever eating meat...those poor animals, they never did anything to get such a life. It was heart breaking to think that their soul purpose in life was to be fattened, slaughtered, and then sent to the dinner table. Now he knew why Victoria was so sad.

"Well, I can't mope about it...it's not going to change anytime soon." She said, drinking the tea. "Changing the subject," she did her best to sound cheerful, "Are you still looking for a job, Edward?"

Still looking? He hadn't even started...Edward had forgotten about her suggestion to get out of the house and work.

He nodded his head, and Victoria sighed.

"Edward, listen...Kennedy's bossing you around. And I think he's discouraging your independence from him. Now, I don't know the whole story, but I think he's a very abusive man towards you." Victoria looked Edward straight in the eye, "It's not right. You can think for yourself, and Ken needs to know that."

"...I know, but..."

"Oh, Edward, you know he's horrible to you. The only way out is to get a job and hopefully escape him."

Edward knew she was right, if he didn't get away from Kennedy soon...who knew what could happen? He promised to find a job both to himself and Victoria.

* * *

Kennedy was gone when Edward arrived at the apartment. This was wonderful for Edward. He didn't have to listen to Dr. Boggs scold him tonight. He had been dreading coming home to the apartment, especially after that morning.

He took off his jacket and shoes, and enjoyed being alone. He didn't bother turning on the television...in fact he completely ignored it. He instead got one of the novel Victoria had given him and set it aside to be read.

There were bottles of beer still on the counter, stale food, and a few empty cartons of teriyaki chicken. Edward sighed, got out a garbage bag, and cleaned the kitchen. He was always cleaning up after Ken, and he was really getting tired of it.

Edward went outside, threw the trash away, and came back up to the apartment. It was much cleaner now and the air didn't stink anymore.

Ed got his the book, sank down in the leather coach, and peacefully began to read.

* * *

**More coming... Once again, thank you for all your nice reviews and comments, they're all wonderful and encouraging! **


	16. You Need Help

**Tonyboy**—Well, I don't know if I'd blame the police, personally. I think I'd blame the CEOs and the bigwigs of the fast food chain company. The police are only doing their jobs, while the CEOs know about what's going on and they could stop it.

**chef13--Hehehe.** Thank you! That was a fun part to write, indeed, but I think I have more plans for our sweet little Kennedy. Also, thank you for telling me that you liked the Police part...It's nice to hear stuff like that. Thanks, again!

**roitgirl027--**Nope...I go by my lonesome. Johnny Rocks:)

**Cathy**—I almost forgot about dear old Peg! She was one of the most mature characters, not to mention, one of the kindest, too. A motherly and loving influence on Edward, Peg was also one of the only people who loved and accepted him into her own world. But now, of course, Peg Boggs has long since died.

* * *

Not Even Human...Help!

* * *

**

* * *

Victoria** stepped into the diner, just like she did every Friday morning before heading off to work, and, by reflex, picked up a newspaper from the metal stand, put it under her arm, and sank down at a counter seat…just like every Friday morning. 

One thing that was not like every Friday morning, and that thing was girls. Oh, yes, many pretty girls were chatting, gossiping, joking, yawning, and, to a restrained degree, eating. Not a man was in sight; just young women. Though this was unusual, Victoria shrugged it off. She had no personal feelings about the matter—what was it to her? She guessed, absentmindedly, that maybe some teen heartthrob was appearing down at City Square. But the whole abnormality escaped her, the minute she felt her stomach growl for food.

The young lady unfolded her newspaper and read. Victoria didn't look up, but she saw something white and grease-stained walk her way—something she thought was an apron. Presuming that it was Louis, the stout, bright-faced manager, she said…

"Hey, Louis, how's life treating you?" Victoria said, her face hidden in the newspaper.

Victoria made her voice especially warm and friendly (usually Louis would answer her back, in that booming, bubbly voice of his) but this time the only reply was silence. She shrugged it off.

"I'll have my usual, thanks, Louis." She said, still reading. "Hey, why are you so quiet toda—?"

Victoria looked up to see Edward. Her heart abruptly stopped, she gave a small whimper, and almost fell off her seat, in a truly ridiculous kind of way.

"Good morning, can I take your order?" Edward said, calmly.

The diner uniform would have made any other man look horrible, tacky…but it actually made Edward look formal and gentlemanly, in a very bizarre way. It took Victoria a few minutes to recover from shock.

"Why, you little…Look at you! You have a job! That's great, Edward, really I knew you could do it! Did Kennedy give you a hard time, though? If he did, I'd be happy to slap him for you, but…" She held her heart, "Oh, just…Never do that to me again, Edward."

He smiled, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh, no, it's okay, Edward…" She said, putting down her paper, "Well—Anyway, well, I would like a cappuccino, please. Thank you, Ed—"

Victoria looked around and saw all the girls leaning on the counter, bending towards Edward. Their eyes wide with puppy love, they followed his every move. They flipped their hair, desperately, in hopes to draw his big black-ash eyes towards them. They pouted their glossy lips in a sort of childish longing, and gave red-hot, murderous looks to an utterly unconcerned and quite oblivious Victoria (who seemed to be talking to the object of their affections).

"Hey! Victoria!" Yelled a fat, grease-stained man with a faint New Yorker accent," Have ya met my new boy?"

A man as round as a doughnut, as red faced as cherry, and as gruff-voiced as a dog, came bounding toward Victoria and Edward, with a crescent-moon smile shining out of greasy lips. Victoria pushed up her twinkling glasses, turned her seat around, and smiled.

"Good morning, Louis!" She said, "And, yes, I have!"

"Ain't he great? Look at the place! Have you ever seen it so packed, huh?" Louis the manager came up and leaned up against the counter, "Ha! Ha! You'd think we have some sorta movie star, wouldn't ya? Man, you have to fight these girls off with a stick, don't ya, Ed?"

Edward smiled shyly, blushed cotton candy pink, and went off to work again.

"He's a great guy. Not just a pretty face, either—he works hard. A good worker. Does what he's told, and you don't have to tell it to him twice. "Louis smiled an oily smile, "Yeah, good guy, good guy! Well, see ya, Victoria…I gotta go take orders. See ya, Victoria."

Louis shook his balding head, chuckled, and waddled off into the steamy kitchen.

"Bye, Louis." Victoria said, turning her eyes to the gray newspaper. But she couldn't stop a smile from hosting her face. After that moment, the sun shone more golden and warm, the city smog thinned, the air went fresher, and, overall, the world was happy and sublimely proud. Good for Edward!

Victoria Emerson had that same smile on her face all day, and, no matter what effort she put into it, there was no way of getting it off. Lord knows, she did try very hard to get rid of it and be sober—but it was like a strong wine stain, stubbornly sticking onto the ceases of her face.

The clear, decisive sound of a _slap_ came from down the hall, and, thus, the bright smile vanished.

She hissed, tiredly. It was too late for Kennedy and his late-night shenanigans. You see, Ken had new a girlfriend about each couple of weeks— the old girlfriend normally leaves him on the account that he's cheating on her with another girl, who'll eventually become his girlfriend for the next week. It was a never-ending cycle, and Victoria, who lived in the next building adjacent to Dr. Boggs and Edward, heard much of it. Unfortunately, she had free access to this man's personal drama simply because the mail lockers were in the same building as Ken's apartment.

"I've heard _that_ before!" The girlfriend screamed at Ken.

Victoria looked in her pea green carpet purse for her mailbox keys. Frankly, she wasn't quite up for watching them have a go at each other tonight, but Victoria wasn't going to let them stop her from getting her mail. She cursed her luck, as she struggled to find her keys in a pile of clutter.

Ken must have said something offensive, because the girl gasped, gave him a lip-splitting slap on the face, and stormed out, dropping the flowers he had given her on the floor. Dr. Boggs noticed Victoria, and immediately he wished she'd leave. She had always been in the background, silently getting her mail and giving him judgmental glances, whenever something…like this happened.

Kennedy kicked the flowers, making rose petals fly all other the place. He snapped, "You find that funny?"

"I'm not laughing." Victoria looked up, sober to the marrow in her bones.

Ken looked down at the bouquet of flowers and winced. He paid good money for those flowers—why did his temper always make him do stupid things? He snapped again, "Lost your keys?"

"Yes, I think…oh, no, here they are!" Victoria almost jumped for joy, relieved to be free from the situation. She stuffed her mail in the bag and began to escape the scene. But Victoria stopped in her tracks—

Victoria swallowed her anger, "…You know, Dr. Boggs…"

"Look, stop calling me that! I'm Kennedy, not _Dr. Boggs_…for Christ's sake." He hissed picking up the flowers, and giving her an annoyed glance.

Her eyes narrowed, feeling hurt and insulted, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't but notice that that was the tenth girl this month or so."

He crossed his arms, "And?"

"What do you mean, 'And?" She paused, sweaty hands grabbing onto her knitted bag, "I mean—don't you _see_—at all? Are you so blind not to see it's just not healthy? Ken, they seem not to care about you, and you don't care about them. Really, it's no wonder these girls dump you, if you can't be true to them, you know!"

He hated been told what was right and wrong—and somehow Victoria always seemed to be doing _just_ that. Part of him, he admitted, told him she was right, and another (more stubborn) part of him said she was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. He snarled, "Sometimes, they're the ones who cheat on _me. _I'm not as much as a jerkoff as everyone thinks."

Silence. Kennedy smiled. Ladies and gentlemen, the score is Victoria 0, Kennedy 1…

Victoria frowned and drooped her curly head, as she felt her eyes sting and her joints ache from the day's work. But she, as herself, always persisted, "You're only setting yourself and them up for disappointment. And, as a matter of fact, yes—you _are_ as much as a jerkoff as everyone thinks, Kennedy. I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just telling you the truth." She looked at his angry red face, "And I can see you don't like what I'm saying, so I'll leave you alone."

He shouted before she could get up the stairs.

"_Look_, you're the one who is putting all this crap in Edward's head, not me!"

She growled, praying that lighting would strike him dead, "Hardly, Kennedy. I'm helping Edward. He just got a job today, which I think is better than being your servant."

"_Edward_ got a job?" He scoffed. Oh, what a wonderful liar she was, he thought.

"Yes. Down at the diner…He's not going to be at the apartment tonight, I assure you. He's able to think and work for his own benefit," Victoria said, "Edward shows the signs of a abusive childhood, so do him a favor and leave him alone, please."

Abusive childhood? Edward probably didn't even have a "childhood" in the physical sense. He must have been the same as he was when he was created, and probably would stay the same forever. But what did Victoria know? To her, Edward was someone much different than who he really was.

"Wait… what?" Ken said, taking her seriously, "You _really_ mean he has a job? What?"

Victoria nodded, quickly.

"I mean, did you help him to get one?" He said, skeptically, crushing a rose petal under his heel.

"No, he did it himself." Victoria said, proudly, "I only gave him the idea."

Well, Ken couldn't but feel a little thankful— and then later, guilty and ashamed. She was just trying to help, of course. Edward working meant more money and less stress on himself to get the bills paid, and he suspected that Victoria knew all that. He shook his head, bent his face into a deep frown and, annoyedly clicked his tongue. He said, perhaps too sharply, "Oh, that was nice of you."

"I don't need sarcasm right now, thank you." Victoria grumbled, as she walked away.

Ken shook his head, "Yeah. I wasn't being sarcastic."

Victoria looked at him, immediately suspicious. What was he up to? What is he getting at? Kennedy Boggs never just said thank you for anything. Especially not to Victoria. They were opposites, if one did one thing, the other did the precise opposite—if she said sorry, he would snarl insults. Miss Emerson scanned Dr. Boggs' face, but all she saw was a calm, cool, collected countenance. This confused her.

Then, Ken said something that made Victoria almost kill him.

"Well, I have reservations at a restaurant. And my date ran off… Do you want to come?"

Victoria's head shot up and she adjusted her glasses, furiously. Had he forgotten all those things he called her? Her immediate response would have been _"No!" _if he hadn't offered her the ruined flowers.

"Not like a _date_!" He gave the loudest and most desperate pretext in the universe, " …Just, you know, so I can apologize for what I've said…"

"Well," She huffed, "That's okay, Kennedy. I wouldn't want you to put up with a 'heinous bitch' like myself." She felt her face burn with anger and her fists long to smash him in the nose.

"Yeah." Ken said, "I'm sorry that I, you know, said that." Kennedy grumbled, "Come on…at least it's free food for you. Look, I just need—"

"You need _help_."

"Yeah, I know."

Victoria felt like strangling him, but she couldn't really justify her hatred and anger, after all Kennedy was trying to make things better. Victoria Emerson knew at least fifteen scriptures about forgiveness, but she still felt like butchering him, Norman-Bates-style, and casting his bloody, beaten remains off a bridge.

Ken kept impatiently looking at her, holding his stash of bruised roses.

Well, there Victoria was, in a perfectly nice restaurant, sitting across from possibly the most screwed up bastard in the universe, Doctor Kennedy Boggs. How splendid, how utterly and completely and outrageously splendid.

_So, Victoria dear, remind me…why am I hear again? _She kept asking herself, silently glaring across the table to her nemesis.

The first few minutes were caked in hellish silence. It was rather sweet of Kennedy Boggs, in a way, but she reminded herself that Ken was a man who had supported waste to be dumped illegally in the ocean. _He is a bad man_, she kept that mantra ringing in her head. She kept list of his wrong doings; the Nepalese Rebellion, that rapist robot, and abusing her friend Edward—

"I need help."

"I'm definitely on the same page as you there, sir."

Ken frowned, but he just looked back to the menu, silently. This was not like Kennedy Boggs, not at all. Usually he would have blown up like a Hawaiian volcano, but, no, he only sat there looking at the menu. She tapped her fingernails on the table, rather pleased no comeback came from him. He was improving.

"…You know something that's been bugging me all week?" Kennedy Boggs said, still reading the menu.

"No, what?" Victoria asked, crossing her arms.

He put the menu down, and weaved his hands together. Ken looked her straight in the eye, and, to her shock, Dr. Boggs' brown eyes advertised seriousness and a sobriety—and even, hidden deep, deep within the brown forest, a bit of guilt.

"When you told me to be more like Edward," Ken said, "It's been bothering me, you know? What you said really pissed me off at first…but I'm a wreak, a fucking wreak."

Kennedy sagged down in his chair, shut his eyes, and breathed very heavily. She did the opposite as usual and sat upright, perfectly in posture, as she carefully observed his actions and reactions.

Dr. Boggs certainly was a man to be reckoned with, but Miss Emerson assumed that he would've made many efforts to disguise his insecurities. But, there he goes, and tells all his faults to her face, like she was his personal psychiatrist. _This _out of character, and she couldn't but help to feel a slight pang of slimy suspicion.

"Yes," Victoria said, still trying to get her head round the whole situation, "Well, like I've said before—"

"I've been acting like a fucking idiot." He weakly interrupted.

"Indeed you have." She said, sipping her water. She frowned, trying to detect something she couldn't put her finger on exactly.

"What the fuck do I do, though?" He said. Ah, there we go—swearing Ken came back.

She bobbed her head a little, lazily looked over the menu, and, as if she didn't care a single toss on the subject, said: "Stop being so cruel to Edward, stop treating women so disrespectfully, and stop looking for women who _want_ disrespect. Stop drinking, stop being so rude to me, stop watching so much television, stop eating fatty foods, and, for goodness sakes, start being more of a human being, Ken."

"More human? I am as human as you are." Ken said, his voice so low it barely made its way to Victoria's ears.

"There's more to being human than simply being flesh and bone, Kennedy." She said, not looking at him.

"That's a lot to fix, though,"

"Only because you've done a lot of damage." She retorted, primly, as she took another sip of water.

Ken looked up, with a blank, soulless face—"I hate life."

"Well, then, I must say you're not really making your situation any better." She parried, giving him a stern, motherly gaze.

Finally Kennedy exploded, but only by pieces, first it was a mumble, then a hiss, than a growl, then a shout—Dr. Boggs' rage boomed out of every word. "You just use your religion as a crutch, Victoria! You are as ruined as any of us…You know that and I know it! You don't know about what I went though—I lost my mother, okay? When I was nine. You don't know what it's—"

She slammed her hand on the table, making the glasses and silverware tremble over the red cloth. Victoria's eyes were closed and her eyes leaked with a few tears. Kennedy was hushed, as he just noticed that he had drawn some attention to himself in the restaurant, and also because he successfully made Victoria cry.

Darkly, She said, "How _dare_ you? I lost my mother and father, when I was only six."

Ken's jaw dropped, as he felt his anger quickly leave him. "Oh," He said, feeling his soul beg for forgiveness, "God, Victoria—I really didn't mean—"

"You meant it," Victoria hissed, "You meant every word. You say you're hurt, but I can see you have no problem hurting others—The reality is that you know nothing about my life! So, immediately, you try to hurt me! Why? I want to help you!"

"Please—I need help!"

"I know! Stop saying it, because I _know_! You have to be open for help, before you actually get it!" She got up and began to leave.

* * *

Edward picked up the phone, "Hello?"

A shrill, frilly voice screamed over the phone line, "Hey, Eddie!"

Ed heard a chorus ofcheering voices on the other end, and it took him some time to identify the voice with Aunt Jillian's squeaky sqeal of a voice. He waited for the booming uproar to calm down...

"Hi, Edward! We're missing you a lot!" Lucy Walters, whose voice sounded less childish and moremature by the second.

"Edward- Tell me honestly, have you been doing exactly the opposite of what Ken says, dear?" Came Molly Walters concerned, steel-hard voice, "If you have, you're doing the right thing, dear. Stay away from drugs, Edward."

"Hello," Edward said, his voice soft but strongly happy to hear them, "I've missed you too!"

Then...the onslaught of endless questions started, leaving poor Ed very defenseless. "Do you like the city? What's it like? Is Ken being...well, are you okay? Have you seen any shootings yet? What's happened to your voice? Do you have a cold? Hey, do you have a girlfriend? Have you stayed away from drugs, Edward. I hope so...What kind of apartment are you living in now? How many people can stay in it?"

His head spun like a spin top toy, but he enjoyed it very much. Just to hear their voices, even if he didn't understand it- was just a wonderful thing for Edward to come home to after a hard, laborious day at work. They were, he thought, his adopted family and he had a certain, unique admiration for them all.

Then, Jake Walters, the father, stopped the ruckus on the phone and... said something that caught Edward's attention, "Hey, Edward, we're coming up toUrban for this Christmas. Just thought we could have a nice family vacation, you know, to see you, Ken, and the city."

He smiled, "That's great!" But...honestly...asEdward looked around the tiny bachelor's apartment, he greatly doubted a huge, king-sized family such as the Walterses could actually cram themselves into this place. Nervously, he bit his lip, and twirled the phone's cord around hiswhite fingers.

"We _need_ to see you, baby!" Jill said, energetically, "Things just haven't been the same, honey, they haven't been the same! So, tell Kennedy we're coming...We're going to stay in a hotel nearby, hon, so no fret, kay?"

Edward's tense chest relaxed, as he was greatly relieved at hearing this information. And then, Edward endured another line of questions from the Walters.

* * *


	17. Christmas in the City

**

* * *

Christmastime,** yet again 

Glimmering toys, fuzzy crimson Santa hats, and smelly candy canes—Lush berry-studded wreaths were being propped up in the grill of limousines and trucks, and a few enthusiastic people donned pretend reindeer antlers. Holiday sales tempted every shopper, making their fingers itch for their wallets. Toy shops were slowly (but surely) losing their stock of Barbie dolls and G.I. Joes.

The strange thing was, there was no snow this year—Chilling weather, yes, there was a lot of that; but suffering though frost isn't worth the trouble without getting snow to play in. Still, nothing…

Christmastime was rather different without snow.

* * *

The Walters swamped into the apartment, all sloppily kissing and hugging Edward, clinging onto him, telling him how much they missed him, and how much they needed him back home in Suburbia. They were like a gang of blood-thirsty leeches, sucking and clinging like crazy. 

Aunt Jillian held the sides of Ed's face, and shook him gently. "Oh, sweetiekins! I missed my little sweetheart! Give me a kiss, give me a kiss!"

Edward watched the giant, pastel pink lips lift up to him, and, much to his amazement, they made a loud _smack_ noise. Getting over his impulse to stare, he bent down and softly pressed a sweet peck on her nose.

In an instant, Lucy attached herself to his left arm—and she held onto the mechanical boy for dear life."Oh, I've missed you so much!" Lucy half-whispered, squeezing his arm…and the little child kept her gasp… not that Edward really minded that. He was, after all, unbelievably happy to see her again after all this time.

Bobby waved boredly to Edward—but, he was pleased enough to see "good ol' razor blades". Bobby quickly smiled, and then just as quickly wiped the smile off his face. Then, he put his black headphones back on, a noisy symphony of heavy metal booming and crashing out from the CD recorder, and he immediately zoned out of reality. He wandered off to the kitchen, and stared off into space…occasionally, changing the song he was listening to.

_Bobby's not swearing..._ Edward thought as his ebony eyes followed, and specifically observed, the teenage boy.

Uncle Frank and Jake Walters gave Ed a cheerful pat on the back, saying that it was nice to see him again. Politely, Edward smiled and nodded back in response… but after the brief hello, the two other men tiredly collapsed onto the sofa and turned on a football game; serenely, the two men were lulled into a soft doze by the dull, muted light of the TV.

The Walters brought food—a _ton_ of food, actually. It made Edward a little sick to the stomach, just even looking at it… Jiggly jellies, frosting-thick cakes, pumpkin pies, a colossal turkey, mashed potatoes, assorted Christmas-themed candies, sugar cookies, and every other thing Ed was sure Victoria Emerson would avoid eating. He could hear his vegetarian friend lecture in his head, right now, 'You know what I think, Edward? I think this would feed a small tribe in Timbuktu! Remember the starving children of Zimbabwe!'

The thought brought a small, quivering smile to his face.

It was a squeeze to get this family comfortably inside the apartment, but with some effort, it was done. Aunt Jillian poured herself a glass of white wine, and reclined on a kitchen stool. "Well! Isn't the city just great?" She sighed, "Didn't I tell you, Ed? It's great, it really is _great_!"

Edward smiled, obligingly. He didn't completely agree, but that was okay.

Mrs. Molly Walters picked up the massive cold turkey, opened the never-used 1970s oven that was squished in-between the two goldfish-colored counter tops. The woman tossed her head over towards Kennedy's direction, an irritated glare in her eye.

Molly hissed, "I'm going to put the turkey in the oven! You won't mind, do you, Ken?"

Kennedy Boggs, after a moment looking at the rusty and falling-apart oven, ran his fingers though his hair. He shrugged and nodded his head, guessing that it was good enough to bake something in, and if it wasn't… at least, he figured, that it would spice the evening up a bit...

_Ring-Ring-Ring…_

…It was the doorbell; the entire family swirled their heads round to give Dr. Boggs a look, all deducing that it must've been the arrival of one of "the girlfriends".

"Ken…You didn't invite one of your girlfriends here, did you?" Asked Mr. Walters, looking rather put-off at the young man's disobedience to the family wishes.

"No, I swear, I didn't..." Ken Boggs said, a little confused himself. "Maybe it's Carl from downstairs? He borrowed some things of mine…he might be returning them, I guess."

"On Christmas Eve?"

"That doesn't sound right, you know."

While this discussion was going on, Edward silently snuck past them and opened the door. Immediately, he smiled at the person at the other side of the doorway, and the other person smiled back, merrily. It was Victoria, holding a large glass plate of vegetarian food that seemed that to be about twice her size.

The family twirled around, facing the door again, and they saw Victoria Emerson for the first time. It took them a minute or two for them to process why she was here; as they hadn't heard about her before. Edward hadn't even told them about his friend. To their great relief, she wasn't the barely-dressed, large busted, and skank-styled kind of person Dr. Boggs seemed to always attract, and be attracted to...This person had a primness about her, a freakish kind of librarian-like confidence.

Pushing up her glasses, she greeted them civilly, "Hello, there. I'm Victoria Emerson. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

"I invited her." Edward explained, happily smiling back and forth between the Walters and Miss Emerson.

The family politely introduced themselves, crowding up to her in an absolute frenzy, and they sat her on the sofa, started small talk, all those polite things people do to make you feel like you're welcome.

The night went very, very well, for about half-way through.

But for some reason, Mr. Walters thought it would please Victoria to show her their family vacation photos—Mr. Jake Walters had the delusion that pictures of other people having a fun time are thoroughly interesting to a dinner guest. This proved to be a grievously boring experience for Victoria, but she put on a brave face. Pretending to be entertained, she smiled, but, even she had to admit, it was a strained smile.

"And this," Mr. Walters took out another photo from the thick album, "This is…oh, hey, will you look at that! Heh heh! Didn't know this one got in here. Yeah, this one is our house back in good old Suburbia."

There was a small pause. Mr. Walter's eyes widened with a revelation of some kind, and then zipped over to look at Victoria sitting next to him.

"Wait a second—Hey….hey… I think I remember you! You're that kid who lived the Emerson Lady! _Yeah_…I remember you!"

Victoria twitched in disgust, at the usage of "the Emerson Lady"."…That was me, yes."

"_Esmeralda _Emerson?" Aunt Jillian gasped, "You poor kid, you lived with her?"

Victoria tried, desperately, not to sound too sharp—"Well, she was my aunt, and _certainly_ kind enough to me."

"_Oh_," Aunt Jill gasped harder, "I see, oh…"

Seeing that the conversation was slowly going downhill, Molly Walters urgently blurted out that dinner was ready.

* * *

"Ken, it is _obviously_ symbolic of how materialism has consumed our society. It throttles the animal abuse aspect of the holidays, too. Come on now, use your brains, Kennedy Boggs. Most animals given as gifts are usually _thrown_ away, and the animal shelters at the Humane Society and IPITAE are just plain over-flowing. That's what the poem's trying to convey! _Don't_ you see the message?" 

Kennedy frowned, then folded the poem over, "That still doesn't _change_ the fact this poem doesn't rhyme!"

Violently stabbing her fork into her turkey, Victoria spat to the Doctor, "It doesn't have to rhyme, because it is art."

"Art?" Kennedy raised a sardonic eyebrow "A seven-year-old could do better."

"Well, I don't quite agree—"

"You know, I don't care if you agree." Kennedy snarled at her and snickered friskily to himself, "If it doesn't rhyme, it isn't a poem."

The dinner conversation had been a customary "back and forth" between Ken and Victoria, over a poem one of Victoria's poetic friends penned about modern life and modern Christmas. It was very radical, over-spirited, and absurdly abstract piece of prose and _not _something the Walters had particularly enjoyed listening to… Edward even found the thing to be a bit, well, _weird_.

Victoria pushed up her glasses, sniffing softly. "You think what you think, and I'll think what I'll think. We'll just agree to disagree. All right?"

The doctor mumbled something, while fiddling around with rather sad-looking greasy meat and potatoes.

Victoria's eyes were as cold as her voice. "I suppose that's good enough."

After that , everything was pretty silent, except for the few chirps from Aunt Jill or Mrs. Walters, who were both trying their best to kindle conversation. Aunt Jill gabbled on about her salon in Southgate Mall, and Mrs. Walters tried to compliment Victoria on her cardinal-feather earrings. But this came to no avail, and, in the whole, things had become very tiring and stressful—they even ate slowly, with bitter faces, as though they were consuming plates full of twigs and mud.

"Would you like some turkey, Victoria dear?" Mrs. Walters asked, pushing some sliced meat in her direction.

"Thank you, but no." Civilly, Victoria replied, "You see, I'm a vegetarian."

Well, was she trying to be _funny_? This was very offensive to older people at the table…they thought it was the height of rudeness not to take, at least, a small nibble of turkey (just so that she could compliment the cooking, politely).

Everyone shot a few glances towards Edward, wondering how in the universe he and she ever got along. For everyone of the Walters (except little Lucy, who rarely held any strong negative opinions), they could hardly understand her—this young lady, not even a little bit. Yes, she her manners were impeccable; that only made the Walters more confused with her.

Neither did their precious little Edward "fit in" with their barbecuey lifestyle, but he was quite different from his vegetarian friend. He would not rebel or discuss faux pa topics—the mechanical man didn't naturally judge authority. He was submissive to the family, in every sense of the word—You see, if they said 'Jump!', Ed's instinct was to inquire 'How far?'

What worried the Walters the most was that Edward himself wasn't eating any meat. No, actually, he wasn't eating _in general_. Nothing was on his plate, practically.

Using his fork to push and squish the few clumps of runny caramel-colored gravy and potatoes on his plate, he sculpted miniature volcanoes out of his soggy meal…

Ed showed no intent of eating the food, either. Not that he didn't appreciate being lucky enough to be fed, but altogether—the man had just lost his appetite. He'd actually lost his appetite a long time ago—a couple days ago, or a few weeks back, or maybe a whole month ago even—Edward couldn't fully recall when, but he did notice his mechanical body had completely abandoned interest in eating.

I'll live anyway, The machine man thought, tiredly, as he squashed the potatoes and brown-red meat with his silver fork. And, indeed, he was quite right in his assumption. Edward could certainly go a lifetime without eating, and not even hear the painful whine of his stomach growling once. Not once. 

Simply, because he was made of metal, stretchy plastic, and iron bolts—his anatomy ran solely on a system of cogs, a series of springs, metal tubes, elastic plastic bands, and not much else, really.

Edward didn't really need nutrition any more than your standard computer.

Yes, sometimes he pretended to be hungry—only, really, because people seemed all too happy and obliging to feed him. They liked 'fattening him up', as they put it, possibly because the man looked so absurdly lean and cadaverous and wiry-shaped, that they believed shoving a few spoonfuls of thick goop in his mouth would cheer him up. Aunt Jillian had said from the start that he was a skinny boy… 'The kid could hide behind a lamppost without any difficulty, I'm telling you. Eat up, ya little twig! C'mon, get some nice fat on those bones.'…

Edward had seen his ghost-pale reflection in the mirror on some of the darker street shop windows, and he didn't really see what they all meant. He thought he looked okay…

He sighed heavily and slunk into his chair, like a student trying to figure out a hard question on a civics exam.

Edward really hated eating, it wasn't that bad when he ate when he _wanted_ to, unlike now. Otherwise, he saw no point to it, really. He could live without it; Actually, he _had_ lived without nutrition, for a very long time.

"So…" Aunt Jill ventured, munching on a crunchy piece of lettuce, "I'll bet you'll be going to church tomorrow, Victoria."

"Actually, no. I don't really go to church; not on a regular basis, that is."

"Really? Wow, well, I would've thought…I mean, you being, um…"

"I rather like to just study scripture independently."

"You don't say? Well, uh-huh…Say, Frankie, could you kindly pass the potatoes? Thanks, baby."

Aunt Jill had been giving Ed and Victoria sly little glances all night long. It was like something big was bubbling inside of her, and she'd have to let it out soon. Finally, Jill couldn't take it any longer; she dabbed her mouth daintily with her napkin and folded her hands in her lap. She stared at Edward and Victoria, grinned giddily, and said:

"So—" Aunt Jill said, slowly—as if she was being particularly smart, "How long have you two been a... _couple_?"

Kennedy had been taking a swig of soda from his cup, and the very thought made him spit the liquid back into the glass, while Victoria and Edward gave Aunt Jillian blank stares.

Auntie was getting very giggly now, "How long have you fun kids been dating?"

Edward and Victoria turned to look at each other, completely bewildered.

Aunt Jill chuckled to herself, a bright glitter in her eye, "Aww, kids, there's no need to cover up." Jillian laughed, "It's _just_ so sweet of you two to try to be so modest! Really, guys, it's not that _big_ of a deal…"

Victoria's mouth gaped open, then closed and opened again, like a gold fish, "No, you don't quite understand. Edward and I are friends…there _isn't_ a 'deal' at all."

"Well, _aren't_ they terribly cute?"

Ed and Victoria glanced at each other and had a moment where neither of them knew weather to find this funny or stunningly horrible—so they just kept their frowns on their faces. Victoria was supremely glad to take the first opportunity she got to change the subject. Forcing a grin that made her gums hurt, she inquired "So, is Suburbia as snowy as always? I know it's usually storming this time of year."

Aunt Jill gasped so loud, it made the table jump a little. She had a drama-queen expression; her hand over her heart, her brow furrowed, and platinum blonde head shaking like a yellow pom-pom. She looked like those opera singers, with fat and wiggling bodies, singing about something tagic.

"No, not at _all_!" The Aunt said, "You can fry an egg on the sidewalk there, now! It been so hot, you wouldn't believe it! We haven't had snow because Eddie's left us!"

Victoria slowly bent her head sideways, "What do you mean because Edward's left you?"

A hellish hush came over the dinner table, and Aunt Jillian had a horrendously guilty look on her face. Sinking into her seat, Jillian realized she'd just spilled the beans. The whole family gave her an accusing look; even mellow Edward pitched in with the angry staring contest.

Victoria blinked, confused on why the family was acting like this. Assuming she had said something offensive, she asked, "Oh, no! Did I say something?"

"_No_!" Mr. Walters chuckled, attempting to laugh the mistake off, "Well, I think I'm up for some more delicious _mash potatoes_! They're just wonderful, aren't they? Molly did you make these by yourself? Wow!"

Staring over to her friend Edward, Victoria softly nudged him, in a silent inquiry for an explanation at what Aunt Jill meant. Edward whispered he didn't know what Auntie was talking about.

Well, Edward actually couldn't pull a convincing lie anyway.

* * *

"Kennedy," Victoria whispered, almost too quietly, "I need a word." 

Before the doctor could refuse, Victoria Emerson snatched his arm, yanked him out of the apartment, and dragged him forcefully into the empty hallway.

Dr. Boggs pulled his arms away from her, "_What're_ you doing?"

"What's going on?" She said, crossing her arms irritably, "Just tell me."

He frowned, "Okay. I don't understand what you're—"

"What on earth did Jillian mean by 'it never snows now, because Edward's gone'? Why was everyone in a lather about it...?"

Kennedy rolled his eyes, swallowing some lumps of worry down. He then frowned, looking at her straight in the eyes, "I must say, Victoria, even for you, this is stupid."

He began to open the apartment door, but Victoria grabbed his arm and strongly pulled him back. She looked furiously determined, and, even worse, Victoria seemed upset.

She grumbled, feeling a slight chill scurry up her back. "Edward _won't_ say anything about it."

"Edward never says a damn word about _anything_," Kennedy growled back, "And let go of me…" He wiggled out of her clutches.

"Listen, is he in trouble? He says he's from Canada, _but_..." She shook her head, thoughtfully, "Is Edward in trouble? Is he in trouble with the law? Did he do something? I'm his friend, Ken, and if I can help in any way…"

Dr. Boggs was really losing his patience, "If you were his friend, you'd leave it be, okay?"

Victoria raised one eyebrow, and brought herself up to full height, exhaled softly, and narrowed her steel-stern eyes."I should just ask him, and get it cleared-up…"

Dr. Boggs' gaze immediately snapped towards her direction. "_Don't_. Seriously," The doctorcaught her by the arm, "Victoria, you—"

Miss Emerson threw Dr. Boggs' grip away, and she hurriedly stalked into the depths of the apartment. Victoria kept up a quick pace, as she approached Edward Hands, who was making hot chocolate for little Lucy Walters. Kennedy ran after Victoria, thinking of someway to hinder her from asking Edward anything, but by the time he reached her, Victoria was already talking.

"Edward?" Victoria began, "I need to talk to you for a second."


	18. Pointing Fingers

* * *

**

* * *

Mrs.** Molly Walters stood, hard fists resting on the sides of her hips, and her foot tapping furiously. Indignantly tilting her chin upwards; her nose thinned as she snorted out a curt _sniff,_ and her eyes, which were as clear as diamonds, narrowed into tiny slits. 

"Shameful…absolutely _shamefu_l."

Muttering bitterly, she repeated the word 'shameful' over and over, in case the three young adults hadn't yet grasped the gist.

You see what happened, Dear Reader, was Dr. Boggs had scurried up in between Edward and Victoria, just as they were about to leave for a talk. Sneering out many a vulgar and ungentle remark in the young lady's four-eyed face—one harsh criticism led to another, and another—until the Dr. Boggs and Victoria Emerson were quite literally at each other's throats.

Cowering in the middle, Edward watched wide-eyed as his two companions barked at each other. Ed could swear that they'd foamed from the mouth, too."…s_top,_" Ed protested, in the voice of a frightened child. He breathed in, trying to gather up whatever pluck he had within him. "Stop it." This wasn't working. Edward swallowed hard, and felt his artificial spit crawl down his plastic stomach. _"Please, stop it!"_

Instantly, the fighting stopped. Everyone in the room was caught in a death-like quiet. And, Edward guessed they weren't even breathing anymore.

"_Thank you_, Edward!" Mrs. Walters tried not to seem surprised that he'd lifted his voice from his usual mousy murmur. "Well, at least we have _someone_ here who has the concept of mannerly and civil behavior! My _goodness!_"

Edward blushed a bright fire truck red. His throat hurt, like sandpaper, from talking so loud.

Kennedy and Victoria kept their eyes fixated on the mechanical man, not planning to move their dumbstruck gazes. The gall of Edward even daring to say 'stop it!' to them, still was washing away deep down in their stomachs.

Uncle Frank lifted his lazy brown eyes up from his newspaper (which was rather surprising, since very few things induced him to even _glance_ up from his daily paper). Mild-mannered Frank gently scowled at the people in the room, a wee bit confused on the whole matter-of-affairs.

Mr. Jake Walters' blood rushed to his face, "What is the problem with you kids? You're _just plain_ fighting like cats and dogs! God's _sake…_!"

Victoria was as pale as wax, as she rung her hands together, nervously. Quick as lighting, she peeled her eyes off Edward Hands and stared down in shame to the ruffled, turquoise-colored carpet. The young lady hated being rude, she, herself, _hated_ rude people... but there was something about that Ken Boggs that just made her want to— really—just rip his lungs out. No matter how feverishly she prayed. She, you see, simply could not help herself.

Dr. Ken Boggs was a million miles away. Holy God, it had _happened, _he thought in an excited panic… Ken began to have a slight tremor in his left hand, and his eye twitched friskily. _That machine's brain developed some sort…some sort of…of mechanical frontal lobe…! _Independent thought had come out in certain parts, little tiny fragments, of what Edward did but it'd never been so plain, so blunt. A machine's mind—_Ed's_—was actually capable of independent thought _and_ rebuttal!

Kennedy's blood was hot in his veins, like boiling water, and he began daydreaming about how the name 'Dr. Ken Boggs' would be stamped on the front page of the National Geographic—who knows? He could have even won a Nobel Price or some damn thing, for his achievements in re-creating a mechanical man…if things had been a little _different,_ of course…

But, Ken realized he was staring _in the face_ of science's most prodigious achievement. It was unbearably awesom_e_.

Aunt Jillian watched this, impatiently rap-tap-tapping her long plastic nails, and shook her head, whispering something about 'these crazy kids'… Auntie was quick to call Lucy away from aforesaid 'crazy kids' and then fuss over the little girl and tell her it was 'bout time to return to their hotel.

In more of a command than a suggestion, Mrs. Molly Walters said "Don't you three think you'd better sit down?"

They all sat down, at once. Kennedy, Victoria, and Edward's sulky eyes were gloomily staring up at the lady before them. Molly returned the look, except hers was fierce, glittering, and unmerciful.

"I'd expect this kind of behavior from little children, honestly," Mrs. Molly Walters continued, still keeping her judgmental eye on them, "This is completely unacceptable."

"Look—"

"Ken, I don't want to hear it!" Mrs. Walters shrieked, stomping her foot down on the floor so hard, that the plates on the dinner table jingled.

Kennedy Boggs shivered and shut up. He looked deliberately away from Molly Walters.

"And," Mrs. Walters put her hands behind her back, attempting to act calmly and rationally, "And I hope there's an explanation for it."

Kennedy swirled his head towards Mrs. Walters again, utterly outraged, and maintained that he hadn't done anything. Victoria Emerson snorted out-loud, while giving him a replused look, and slid her spectacles up quickly along her nose.

Jake Walters put his large hands in his pockets, and frowned down at the three, "Now, kids…" Jake sounded like he was talking an extremely stupid group of kiddies, "Molly here's right—You just kinda lashed out at each other, right in front of the family, too. And on Christmas … C'mon, you know better than that. What's the deal?"

"I'm sorry." Edward said.

Victoria tried to console him, but it seemed a little useless, since Edward looked beyond help at the moment. Actually, his nerves were absolutely _shot_. The trench-coated lady merely patted him on the back, in a gentle way, because anything else might've been just plain annoying.

Molly Walters mumbled compassionately, while shaking her head "You didn't actually do _anything_, Edward, my dear."

Uncle Frank, who was still rather puzzled, got up and made himself a cup of creamy eggnog. He ran his skeletal fingers through his few remaining hairs on his polished bowling ball- balding head, still looking at the scuffle in the apartment's living room. Uncle Frank, after some thought, frowned and groaned out an inquiry:

"But why were you fighting with each other, in the first place? You…" Uncle Frank took a quick swig of eggnog, "…_were_ pretty gosh-darn loud there, you know."

Victoria and Kennedy gave each other dangerously ugly looks, as if both were trying to telepathically say to another '_You started it, you stupid idiot'_ like pair of whiny five-year-olds.

"Well," Mrs. Molly Walters sternly snapped out, "Are you going to tell us, or what?"

Kennedy decided to reply first, only because he was certain Victoria would press her question about Edward on the family. Ken didn't want that to happen, no _sir_. He knew the family would be nervous about it, and rightly so, too—and also he didn't want the whole 'robot' business leaking out, just because of some religious nutcase of a woman.

Dr. Boggs wasn't about to lose his neck in this. "We got carried away. It was my fault. I blew up at her. It's really nothing."

Everyone in the Walters family was stunned dumb that Ken had actually given an apology—and not only that, but also _admitted_ his guilt—Yet Victoria, who was indeed rather surprised about it, was still not to be easily deceived

"Interesting choice of words," Victoria smiled, faintly, and then snorted, "But, wouldn't you concur, that it would be better to say that, instead of 'we', '_you'_ got carried away? Oh, don't dare dismiss it as 'nothing', either, what I was asking was—"

Ken hissed. He took long, swallowing breaths to help himself resist throttling Victoria senseless.

"I'm no thick-wit, Dr. Boggs. I know what you're doing, and what you're up to."

She looked straight towards Ed, grinned an encouraging half-smile, and then swiftly retreated her glance.

Victoria's hand lifted to her forehead, as if she were checking her temperature, "Mrs. Walters, you are perfectly right. This is extremely childish, of both Kennedy and me. I apologize, Kennedy—we shouldn't be fighting over it." She made an uneven smile, "I know Edward's a good person. He won't lie to me or be dishonest, I know that much."

Kennedy's face went as colorless as Edward's, and Edward's hands were starting to quiver, from the sickeningly dreadful anticipation if his only friend might ask him.

Perhaps Dr. Boggs has some good reason to be so protective, Victoria thought, maybe there was some awful secret that was best left alone. She took a quick surveillance of the faces of the family—and what greeted her were strange and fearful looks, doomed glances, and grimaces.

"That's all right, Edward." Victoria finally sighed, as she got up from the cool, sleek leather sofa, "Really," She looked around to the relieved, yet still mortally sober faces, "Really, I've caused too much trouble."

Victoria felt like turning round and bolting straight-out of the room, the apartment, the block, top-speed.

She forced herself to stretch a painfully broad smile over her teeth, one so forced it caused her mouth to ache. Victoria quickly grasped her purse and her gray velveteen jacket, while steadily drifting towards the door of the apartment.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Walters—I've ruined such a lovely dinner. I wish you all a Merry Christmas…but I think I should get going. Thank you so much. It's been a pleasure to meet you all."

Victoria stretched out one gloved hand to the doorknob, and then she twisted it, desperately— "Well, bye-bye, Edward! I'll…I'll see you soon?" She said awkwardly, a little rattled, her body halfway outside the apartment.

Edward lifted a snowy white hand (which was still frantically shaking) and he gradually tilted it to and fro, as he stupidly waved farewell to his friend. "Good bye." In a daze, Ed nodded, "I'll see you soon."

* * *

"How does she know? Who, _on God's green earth_, told her? Edward? Did you?" 

Edward had his head in his hands, "No."

"Well, someone told her!" Molly was pacing back and forth, sometimes fiercely kicking the carpet with her sheep-white Kenneth Cole shoes, "Kennedy, you must have told her! You two fought together, you must have let _something_ slip…!"

"If anyone," Kennedy said, his cynical voice dripping over the air like thin oil, "'Let something slip' it was dear old Auntie here…Victoria came up to me, and she was all worked up about Aunt Jill's nasty little Freudian slip—Just for the record, I said _nothing_."

Aunt Jill, who had now returned from settling the children snugly in their blankets down at the hotel and telling Uncle Frank to watch over them ('just in case', as the Aunt put it, 'any seedy men decide to pull any funny stuff'), blushed a strong and almost whimsical shade of crimson—the exact reddish Revlon color of her nails—

The family gave a lethal pause. They stared Auntie Jillian down, their bitter feelings over her 'spilling the beans' hadn't gone away just yet.

Kennedy had a snappy grin. He looked like a tom-cat, ready to tear up a mouse.

"Well, this is making Kennedy history! Isn't it, Aunt Jillian?" Ken gave a very disrespectful look towards Auntie, "For once, I don't have blood on my hands…in fact, _I_ was the one who saved Edward from being found out, and _I_ distracted Victoria away from the truth. What a lovely little spin on things, _no_?"

Tears were welling up in Jillian's eyes, and her make-up dripped down her plump cheeks with peach-pink powder, mascara, and blue acrylic eyeshadow.

Jill cried, and the blonde woman fell on the kitchen bench, still sobbing out large breaths, "Oh, it's just all my own fault! I know it is, Kennedy's right—! Oh, Eddie, can't you forgive me? I'm just so sorry, lamb. I, honest-to-God, never meant for that silly thing to slip out of me, honey!"

Edward uncovered his face from his frigid, icicle-like hands. Then, with a soft clumsiness—got up to comfort the wailing woman. Ed really couldn't keep himself mad at Aunt Jill, anyway, could he? For all her stuffy powders, sticky handcreme, and over-potent perfume—Edward really liked the old gal. The Avon lady had been very soft and loving to him, over time, and she had called him her 'little innocent lamb baby'—which Ed thought was very dear of her—

Kennedy sulked in the corner of the room, watching this. He hated Edward being a grade A goody-goody-two-shoes, but, after a while, he merely shrugged it off. Dr. Boggs wasn't feeling _very _inhuman, at the moment. So, he let his annoyance with Ed slide for once…Leastwise, Ken had heavier matters on his mind.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Molly wrung her hands together, and she bent forward like and old woman, "Kennedy, didn't I _tell_ you? I knew, I knew thiswould happen someday!"

"You never told me anything," Kennedy hissed under his breath.

"_What_?" Molly's voice was raspy, like a musket about to explode with gunshot. At any God-given moment, it looked like hot steam would blow out of her ears.

"You never told me anything." Ken lazily repeated, as he yawned, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed— "

"Young man, you'll do nothing of the sort!" Molly told Dr. Boggs, and she stomped her foot on the carpet. "Sit down! You're going to sit through this till Judgement Day, if we don't get it figured out!"

Obediently, Dr. Boggs reclined into his seat... and, he looked absolutely furious.

"Well?" Kennedy frowned, "What's to be _figured out_…? Victoria suspects, but doesn't know squat. Doesn't know squat of anything concrete, that is. Edward's safe. _You're_ safe. I'm safe. We're all just peachy-keen."

"—But—"

He persisted. Eyes stuck firmly on Molly Walters, and his face wickedly tilted downwards. He gripped the leather of the armchair so tightly, he ripped it a little. "If Jill keeps her fat mouth closed, and as long as Edward—and, for that matter, all of us—keeps mum, we'll be just fucking _fine_, Molly."

Molly slowly shook her head, and then resolutely crossed her arms. She had her own agenda for this situation, and she would _not_ have Dr. Kennedy Boggs messing around with it. This could develop into a potential risk—not just for Edward, but also for the family.

"No, no, no…This is the last straw, the last remaining _straw_!" She was furious, "Edward is coming back with us to Suburbia, and that is the end of it!"

Edward immediately looked up, and he carefully swallowed a huge gulp of saliva. He was faintly upset that Mrs. Walters felt she was able to conduct his life, like it was nothing at all—the image of a dog on a leash came to his mind. _Dog on a leash_…

Yes, of course, that's what he was. Some pet, a problem, some possession; that's all. A thing they could pack up, drop off, and play with for awhile, until they got bored with. Edward wondered how hot his blood was, how fast it surged through him, and how his heart felt like someone'd just taken a huge bite out of it.

The mechanical boy kept glowering, silent as death itself. He needed to _leave_, right now. All the family's faces made him feel all queasy and disoriented. Their voices were even beginning to make him want to whirl on the spot.

"What if Ed doesn't want to come?" Mr. Walters said, a little unevenly, "I mean, _forcing_ the boy to go back with you? It's a little much, Molly dear."

"Well, Jake," Molly persuaded with fierce understanding, "at least Suburbia's someplace normal…"

Ken snapped, "You call macaroni salad parties and almost identical pastel houses _normal_, Molly? C'mon…"

Presently Ed decided to get up and fix something to drink in the kitchen—something smooth to clear his _insanely_ frazzled mind. He opened the pearl-white refrigerator, felt the sudden burst of icy air, and then he dug out an orange juice out of the colorful clutter of festive food.

Ed tried to control his shivering hands, but they shook like crazy. He was having immense difficulty pouring the juice, and the glass he was holding slipped out of his hands. He was a bag of nerves…just ready to rip open and scare the living daylights out of anyone round.

Oh, my, yes…Ed was angry with almost ever person in that room, and he knew fully that he turned slightly dangerous when he was ruffled. Look what he did to Jim, he killed Jim, sliced him up like butter, but even if he _did_ have good reason to slice him...

Edward had to leave, now, more for their sake than his. Losing his cool was not a harmless thing, at least where Edward was concerned.

Without further ado, he hurried over to the metal coatrack, pulled on his checkered jacket and opened the apartment door.

Someone asked, "And where'd you think you're going?"

The mechanical man turned around, and gave everyone a pleading 'Don't stop me' look. A hot infuriation clogged up somewhere in his throat.

Freedom, fresh air, and a good walk around the block was all he wanted, or needed.

Kennedy got up from his seat, in one excited spring, and growled, "Hell, he's going to go tell her… Ed, you do that, and you'll have police crawling over you like maggots over garbage. You'll endanger all of us!"

Edward shot a glance to the doctor, but, slowly, looked down again. A tender frown dented Edward's features. "I promise I won't tell Victoria now."

"Oh, sweetie pie…" Aunt Jillian said, a little pityingly.

"You can't tell her _ever_, Edward." Kennedy said, rather flatly.

Edward shook his head, and he cautiously lifted his gaze up from the floor, "I have to sometime."

"Oh, Edward," Molly said, "I know you think that Victoria needs this, but she really won't understand."

Ed's expression was monotonously steady, yet still it had an ocean of dread right under the frozen surface.

"It's wrong." The mechanical man whispered so lightly, the family only just barely heard him.

Kennedy spoke up, turning his nose up at an absurd angle, "You haven't thought this through yet, Ed. Have you even thought about what Victoria'll do? Don't be so shocked. It's possible that she could lose it and—Push you into oncoming traffic. Poison you with acids. Beat you with her purse. She might do an exoticism on you—"

Edward suddenly felt his temper become bitter, "She won't hurt me."

"Well, don't be so sure there, buddy."

"Victoria wouldn't."

"Ed… listen up, okay? People like her do anything to rid themselves of things they hate, and, like it or not, Edward, Victoria Emerson hates you—rather, _will_ hate you, as soon as she knows."

Ed's hands coiled into fists, scalding hot blood streamed in his artificial veins, and his mind was dizzied with hatred. Gingerly, Edward shut his eyes. The feeling drained out of his limbs, and his lips forcefully crunched together.

Dark thoughts seeped into Ed's mind, like black pen-ink dripping quickly over paper.

Right now Ed knew all too well that he was passionately angry, and his temper, when properly insulted, could be really dangerous. Things could happen, bad things… that night of the Boggs' Christmas party, with the glimmering ice angel, and beautiful Kim. Jim had said those awful things, then the police came and their blinding metallic blue and red lights, then Edward had ran away back to the House on the Hill, and he still could remember the syrupy blood on his razors after he'd stuck one shimmering blade into Jim's stomach…

When he shredded the curtains, funky bathroom wallpaper, and the white hallway walls of the Boggs' residence after he'd seen Kim rush over to Jim. Rage, infuriation, irritation, frustration, hatred—

Edward was going insane with frustration.

Feeling an electric shudder go from top to toe, Edward told himself he would never dream of harming the Walters, but his patience had limitations.

Fresh air…that's all he needed to cool his blood and clear his mind. Just a good, healthy walk and a ton of fresh air, that's all.

Before he really knew what he was doing, Edward had on his gloves and scarf. He must've just dressed himself unconsciously, when he'd been thinking. He didn't exactly care—he was leaving the apartment, all the same.

"E-Edward…! Edward? Where are you going?" Someone in the family yelled, but Ed didn't bother to look behind him and answer properly.

Just before closing the apartment door, he replied, "…I'll come back soon."

"_Edwa_—!"

Edward shut the door before they could finish saying his name. He quickly turned around and walked down the long apartment hallway, trotted down the metal staircase, and brusquely traveled across linoleum floored and florescent-lighted entrance of the tenement.

He needed a walk—a long, long walk.

Edward kept on walking, until he reached the tall, gleaming glass doors of the entrance. He opened them, with some great effort since the entrance doors were heavy and hard to push, but he was motivated enough to use his strength.

Nostrils drinking in the moist and cutting air of the Urban City streets, he stepped outside.

Finally, he was out in the dark, buzzing, light-blinking world of the city. It was nighttime, so the smoke smelled thicker, the air was icier, the lights were brighter, and everything was silhouetted against the butter yellow, green, and red Christmas lights in the shop windows.

…Edward just kept on.

He watched his legs walk underneath him, as he kept his head down. The city floor had glimmering spit on the concrete, large wads of gum stamped flat, silver beer cans rolling around, the Sunday news fluttering about in shredded pieces—The whole thing was dirty. Everything was dirty.

The thought of closing his eyes, to shut it all out, came to mind…but Edward immediately thought the better of it. If he shut his eyes, he might bump into someone, and that's always embarrassing.

Edward felt deeply that, eventually, he would need to be around someone nice. Yet going to visit Victoria right now, was perfectly out of the question. Lifting his head up, quite peacefully, someone did, eventually, come to mind.

Of course, he could always go to see _Lucy_.


	19. Midnight Advice

**Was** Edward not from Canada, then? If not, _where_ was he from? Why was he hiding? Did he have a criminal record? Was he some sort of foreign ex-con who forged a visa or distributed illegal substances or, God forbid, committed homicide? Was he wanted by the government? Or, perhaps, was she only being rather over-sensitive to a Freudian slip?

_Too many questions—and not enough tea. _Victoria told herself, while clonking up the metal stairs that led to her apartment complex. _Go brew a cup now, before I completely explode. And do have a less daytime-television-like approach to all this Edward business, m'dear…be sensible, think with reason…but, first things first, agreed? Make tea. _

Victoria rummaged around in her carpetbag, her favorite one with the Oriental pictures of coiled-up snakes and dragons, and found her keys. She pushed door open wide (the door shrieked a blood-curdling '_creak!_', which made her shudder as though an entire forest-full of insects skittered up her legs) to the pitch-black apartment.

Her hand grabbed and groped in the darkness for the light switch, then—

_Switch-clock-buzz_

Victoria flipped on the electrical switch. The apartment's _absurdly_ little living room brightened up. Eyes watering a bit from the sudden burst of white-hot light, Victoria stumbled inside. A litter of novels and pamphlets were scattered on the floor. The room's only window was layered with dirt, thickly, like a sort of grimy cake icing. And a vase with wilted flowers (now rotted into a light brown) sat depressingly on the broken fireplace's mantlepiece.

Truth be told, Miss Victoria Emerson was a straight-forward slob. No doubts about that.

After dropping her bag aside somewhere, Victoria meandered almost drunkenly over to the fairy-sized kitchen.

The kitchen was crammed with metal pots, cracked pans, shiny plastic glad-wear… A nice pile of neatly peeled and shiny wet potatoes sat in the sink, along with a few half-full SILK MILK containers.

Victoria's migraine suddenly gave her skull a fierce _sting_. Grumbling and hissing about it, she rubbed her thudding temple—eventually, resolving to fix it away with a dose of trusty aspirin.

"If I were an aspirin…" Our young lady mumbled as she turned around, surveying her medicine cabinet in the bathroom near the kitchen, "…Where would I _be_?"

After finding the aspirin and brewing a good, steaming, luxuriant cup of earl grey… Victoria sat down heavily in her sofa, curling in quilts splattered with multicolored food stains … and pretended to relax.

She didn't sleep in bed, because that was mostly used as a sloppy desk for her IPITEA paperwork—Now, usually, she'd lay down on her sofa and read away until the wee hours of the morning—getting whatever shut-eye possible before the alarm clock rang. Insomnia just gave more opportunities to finish reading (and re-reading) her tall piles of library books. Not such a big deal. Victoria kind of liked it.

_Aspirin and tea. _Victoria lifted up the chipped teacup and clattering aspirin bottle, and acknowledged them like they were beloved friends. _Good ol' buddies, you are…_ And they were. Every time she got a crack-skull migraine or a volcanic spurt of anger…aspirin and tea were a _sure-fire_ cure.

Absentmindedly Victoria stirred her tea in circles, while her thoughts also mixed and swirled into other thoughts. She quietly mused, while slurping down an itsy-bitsy sip of earl grey, and savored its calming flavor on her tastebuds.

…_Well, honestly_, i_t isn't like Edward's the Creature from the Black Lagoon_… A man with possible traumatizing childhood experiences, yes, and currently living in humble circumstances (_immensely_ humble, in fact, he and Ken Boggs were barely gathering enough cash to pay off their rent). But nothing…eye-poppingly extreme about him, no way.

Ed Hands was a good person, silent as_ death_, but still a very nice and decent and normal.

However, that made it all the more surreal to imagine Edward as a…thief or an ex-con or a runaway or a Russian spy…or something really malignant like they'd show on _60 Minutes _or_ America's Most Wanted_…It actually made Victoria chuckle a little to picture Edward's wide-eyed, innocent and tragic baby face on the television with a large red 'ARMED AND DANGEROUS' on the bottom of the screen.

Then, she sobered up, realizing that wasn't all that funny…and, if her worst suspicions were true, that _might_ just _be_ the case…

* * *

"What're you watching?" 

Lucy walked into the hotel apartment's living room wearing her periwinkle-blue, and comfortably baggy, pajamas. A massive scarlet teddy bear dangled from her arm…and every time Lucy Walters made a move, the plush teddy jiggled and wiggled round in her armpit.

"Just crap" Bobby said.

Brow crinkling into a frown, Lucy turned to see her brother sprawled over the couch. Why wasn't Bobby _worried_ about Edward?Why was Bobby so sleepy and relaxed? Why?

"Why?"

"Because I feel like watching crap."

Lucy scowled…but, nonetheless, sat her rear down on the cushy brown armchair next to where Bobby was on the couch. He switched the channel to some mind-numbing car chase scene from one of those cheesy and almost fascist 70s cop shows—the bullets popping and slinging back and forth on the screen.

Uncle Frank yelled from the kitchen, "C'mon, now. Let's stop watching the TV and come and play a nice board game. You'll—"

Both Bobby and Lucy shouted back, without bothering to look away from the screen, "No thanks, Frank…!"

Despite Auntie Jillian's wishes…Frank allowed the kids to stay out of bed, gobble down on the leftover chocolate and vanilla batter from the Christmas cake, watch television to their heart's content, and then play some board games to further pass the time away. Technically, really only Uncle Frank wanted to play board games…the children had developed a strong distaste for it…because Frank _always_ won.

Lucy got tired with the gunfights and the commercials for breakfast cereal…and plus, television's hypnotic flicker made her eyeballs start to get sticky and hot. She whined a little and sniffed and tugged at the great big teddy bear, and hopped off the couch…

Shuffling like a zombie over to the kitchen, Lucy put her teddy bear on the kitchen's countertop, and slunk down into one of kitchen stools. Lucy didn't have to struggle to climb the stool—because, truth be told, she getting pretty tall for a kid of eleven. 'Growing like a garden weed', everyone said and she _was_.

Lucy sighed, softly scratched her nose—she seriously considered eating more chocolate cake batter—and eventually glanced over to Uncle Frank—or, at least, the back of the newspaper Frank was reading; it was just like staring at a massive gray paper wall.

"Frank…Hmm, mm?" The little girl said, her mouth producing spluttering, dull words—because her mind was too deep in thought to articulate well.

The uncle muttered out an uninterested, "Yes, dear one?" He still kept his face and, in fact, whole body covered by flimsy newspaper.

"Why is Aunt Jill over at Ken's?"

Uncle Frank's blood got ice cold, and his heartbeat became fast and hasty. While lowering the paper slowly, death-like colorlessness flushed into his cheeks. "Because she's gotta work things out, honey, all the grown-ups have to discuss…grown-up things with Edward."

"But why aren't you over there…?"

Frank actually had to think about this. Mind being too nerve-wracked and altogether frazzled to think fast, but…he eventually folded the newspaper into a neat little wrinkled square—he knotted his hands primly together and cleared his throat.

"Lucy, we couldn't just leave you two in a hotel room all by yourselves. Urban City isn't your nice home back in Suburbia, dear." Uncle Frank smiled down at the girl, and patted her on the head, "Besides, I've never been brilliant at 'working things out'…"

Lucy actually smirked at her uncle; and then, the smirk switched to a mocking _grin_. Uncle Frank—though maybe a bit timid and soft-hearted—was almost criminally expert when it came down to solving puzzles, game-show answers, and those ridiculously dramatic soap-opera murder mysteries. Not to mention the board games. He was lying—_big time_—and Lucy was on his tail about it.

"I dunno, you're good at working out who killed Professor Plum." She gave a very clever glance over to the _Clue_ gameboard stuffed in with their traveling suitcases.

Uncle Frank, despite himself, chuckled and nodded his head. "I'm flattered. But my brainpower only extends so far. You see, games are easy—they've got lots of boundaries. Life, though, that's got more mess to it. I just don't understand some of the stuff in it sometimes."

"…stuff like Edward?" She asked, her grin waned and then totally disappeared.

His smile went away just as briskly as Lucy's did. Something grave and cheerless took residence in his eyes, making them glaze-over quite eerily with worry.

"Sure… stuff like Edward." Uncle Frank's voice was hollow and disturbingly wary. "But don't worry about old Edward, okay, Luce-caboose?"

"I'm not worried about him," Lucy said, as she moved her brown eyes alone the pale tiles of the countertop. She almost could feel her nose growing an inch or two, the lie was so obvious. "He's fine. Eddie's perfectly fine…"

"Oh, yes, of course he is, Lucy." Frank answered huskily, feeling his throat become sand dry. He was probably saying it more to encourage himself, than to encourage Lucy.

Bobby switched the volume down a few notches in the other room—and he, himself, had quieted down to a graveyard-esque silence—a tell-tale sign that he was listening in.

And, suddenly, Uncle Frank broke out in a grin that made his features look frighteningly happy. He was looking down to his wristwatch and tapping its glass dial with his index finger.

The relief in his eyes meant …it became clear to Lucy…that it was now bedtime. "Enough about that, now." Uncle Frank said in a calmness that sent shivers up Lucy's spine. "Why, will you look at the clock, it's way past ten, now. Come on, to bed."

Lucy felt her stomach become spicily upset, watery, and sourly warm…just like it is before you are ill all over the floor. Bedtime, _already_? The day had went by as quick as a blink of the eye, it seem like. And, Lucy couldn't be able to make herself sleep—practically, sick with worry—literally actually, she was physically _unwell_ when she knew the mechanical man was in big trouble with her parents.

Nonetheless Lucy picked up her ruby jewel-colored stuffed animal, and allowed Uncle Frank to tuck her in the extraordinarily comfy hotel extra-bed, in the other room, and though everything was cushy and pleasant under the smooth blankets as she coiled up in the fetal position … Lucy still didn't sleep one wink.

* * *

Frank scuffled into the hotel apartment kitchen, with his hands deep in his pockets, and feeling miserably exhausted with the day—and also miserably exhausted with life in general. Really, he was so sick and tired of seeing poor Lucy all wrought up about that Edward. Sick and tired of it, completely. 

"So, you tucked her in?" Bobby's voice was gentle yet very precise, like he was stopping himself from screaming his lungs out.

"Yes." Uncle Frank murmured out at last.

"Oh, that's good."

Bobby had his hand down a huge, silvery-yellow, and immoderately greasy bag of potato chips—the young man munched and munched the chips, making a loud _crack_-_smunch-crack_ noise when he chewed them. Finally he swallowed a huge wad of moist chew down his throat…and stared at Frank, just stared.

This time Bobby's voice was practically quivering, while he offered the bag out, "Want one?"

"No thanks, Bobby, but that's very kind of you." Frank almost chuckled, but didn't because it would have taken up too much energy. Anyway, the man didn't truly know if he had 'chuckle' left inside him…he felt like a large tube had just sucked it all out.

Bobby nodded at the polished floor, while his unwashed hair gleamed with grease in the florescent-lights of the hotel kitchen.

The sunshiny, bubbly voice of the TV newscaster gabbled on obliviously in the background, giving the setting in the kitchen an eerie feeling, _'Hello, and Merry Christmas, everyone! There may not be snow here this year in Urban City, but that doesn't stop the festivities and the merry-making over in the—' _

Frank plucked up the romote control from the couch's cushions, then pressed the 'MUTE' button. Only the image of an insanely cheerful TV newscaster stayed, babbling along in an unsettling topic about some holiday goings-on.

Bobby and Uncle Frank exchanged a look…and at first, it was brief, but then it just stuck. And they stared at each other, in absolute silence, for a long time.

Raising his eyebrows up high, thick lines streaking across his forehead, Bobby finally croaked out, "How long d'you think before the cops'll get involved?"

"Bobby," Frank breathed and huffed, trying to collect whatever reasoning left in his mind, "I honestly don't think he is…or, at least, I don't think things will come down to that. _Not _down to the cops…"

There was an odd pause, as Bobby angrily broke his gaze with his uncle, gloomily dropping his eyes down to the glimmering-white tiles of the kitchen floor. The teen rolled up the slick bag of chips, and tossed it over the countertop…in a way that Frank thought was _supposed to_ be aggressive. Yet it only came across as weak and childish.

"What," Bobby growled frustratedly, "if they _do_ come down to that? Frank, please, come on, at least fucking think about it. We're all in it—the whole family, even Lucy…" Bobby's voice ran thin as his hands began to have small tremors, "We all knew Edward was here."

Frank spluttered out, "Oh, no, no." And he put one hesitant hand on his nephew, and patted his shoulder, awkwardly, "Hey, Bobby…come on, don't think like that. I bet soon thing's will all—"

Bobby Walters' hands scrunched up into tight fists, and his face adopted a reddish color. Bobby hated it when his family belittled his concerns…and he knew he wasn't just being jittery. This was very serious. "Look, Frank—"

"Bobby, I honestly don't know what'll happen. Let's just hope for the best…" Frank only felt pleading was the way to get the message across, no matter how uncourageous it felt, "There's nothing else we can do about it, anyway. Here, just watch some TV..."

And Frank sat down and watched TV, and Bobby sat alone in the kitchen. Commercials and the Christmas-themed sitcoms flashed by on the screen, but Frank and Bobby never actually paid attention to anything on it; so they only stared.

* * *

_Ding…dong. _

Lying the couch in the soft light of the television, Bobby and Frank were dead asleep; their heads wilted to one side and drool flooded out their mouths. It was nearing one in the morning…and all the good television programs had long since aired.

Lucy was awake, though. She hadn't had a moment of sleep the entire night.

_Ding…Dong. Ding dong. _

Tumbling out of the bed sheets, Lucy scrambled to apartment living room, her stuffed animal dragging along behind her. She gave a sharp and disgusted look at her brother and uncle for not waking up… and walked over to the door.

Lifting herself up on her tip-toes, squinting one brown eye, Lucy peered through the tiny peek-hole.

A pallid face with two shining ink black eyes, with a ruffled mess of dark hair—

Lucy's hands immediately covered her mouth, muffling a huge gasp. For a whole minute, she didn't stir. She stood there like stone.

"_Edward_…?" She said to herself, jumping at the latch and opening the door.

Without a moment to think about it, Lucy scurried up to Edward and gave him a colossal bear hug…making him topple backwards a bit from the impact, the little girl practically squeezed his stomach so tight that his lungs couldn't breathe.

"Hello, Lucy."

"Hey, Eddie…!" Lucy smiled, detaching her arms from his waist.

Edward smiled and, wheezing slightly, caught his breath. The smile didn't last very long, and it died with quite the miserable, depressing twitch…when he was discouraged Edward twitched, the little girl had noticed. It's a nasty quirk Edward had.

The little girl peeked up at the towering and frighteningly shadowy man. With his hunched shoulders and stringy hair drooping over his eyes…Ed looked like a modern Grim Reaper in a jacket and jeans. Pale as Dracula. Joyless as death itself—he was a terrifying spectacle.

The little girl frowned. She stretched out her little hand and held onto his, and pulled him kindly into the apartment. Most of the time, Edward was rather cheerful in his own timid way—but, when he wasn't, you could not stop having some pity for him.

"Come on in, Eddie," Lucy tried her utmost to be friendly and warm. It became difficult to do so, when she saw Bobby and Frank—still sleeping—on the couch. "Be quiet, though, they're sleeping like logs over there. Edward…hey, Eddie?"

Lucy patted his hand, compassionately, a few times—but she could help but shudder a little when she felt how _cold_ he was. Eddie was frigid as a corpse that'd been left in the coffin. Freezing cold and shaking like crazy.

"…yes, Lucy?" Edward replied. The two puppy-dog eyes blinked slowly, like they'd pour out large, rolling tears at any moment. His voice was only barely above a wary murmur.

Lucy tilted her head a bit, staring up at the uncommonly gentle man. "Is anything wrong, Eddie?"

A stupid question. And Edward decided not to respond.

The mechanical man slid down into one of the kitchen stools, and his glassy black eyes goggled out into the blue. The little girl, by instinct, sat next to him and watched him for a little while—Edward didn't seem to be entirely aware of her presence. In an act good-will, Lucy offered him her teddy bear. Ed smiled very hesitantly, his mouth twitched like wild, and he politely refused it. After insisting many times and telling him most truthfully that Mr. Teddy helped…the little girl persuaded Edward to cuddle the plushy scarlet teddy bear.

Like Lucy said, Mr. Teddy was actually marvelously helpful. Edward buried his head in the teddy bear's fuzzy stomach, and sighed out at last.

"Eddie, really, what's wrong? I can help, I think."…and Lucy added mentally, _I hope_.

The whole reason why Edward came in the first place was to talk with Lucy about "what was wrong", but, naturally, he couldn't find the words—he had all those somber feelings stored up somewhere inside—but words had _neve_r came easily for Edward S. Hands. So, he kept quiet.

Too quiet. Even for Eddie.

"Eddie," Lucy pushed on, "What's wrong…?"

Gulping down a lump in his throat, he brought his face up from the bear's fuzz. "Lots of things." The mechanical man dropped his head again, and kept it there, as though it was too heavy to hold up.

With a grave tone of voice, she added, "Like what?"

Ed looked into the shadows of the hotel apartment. Lifting his head up slightly from the stuffed animal...Ed blinked delicately a few times. A slow groan echoed from his throat.

Lucy practically knew the answer already, "Was it because of your friends?"

Edward nodded, coal- black eyes shimmering like sequins...

"I thought so." She grumbled, licking her lips. "Eddie," Putting a small hand on his sharp shoulder, Lucy smiled though it looked sad, almost _silly_… "You know, it's not your fault that they went nuts like that…I don't…I don't think they really want to make you so sad. Victoria's nice. She's a lot like Kenny, you know, she has a temper, that's for sure. Daddy calls people like her short fuses—Kennedy's just the same; he's a shot fuse, too—"

Lucy's words of encouragement were well meant, but, frankly, they did nothing to help Edward feel better. And this puzzled him. When someone is good enough to help you, shouldn't you be happy…or, at the _least_, comforted? He just didn't understand himself sometimes.

Voice low and solemn, the man said, "But… they fight all the time."

"And they look pretty scary when they do." The girl shook her head sadly, "Kenny looked like he was going to blow a gasket, huh? All over nothing, too!"

Edward covered his face with his hands, and nodded. He felt like everything inside was being ripped and crushed. After what seemed to be a millennium, he took his hands away from his face, and looked to Lucy seriously, "I don't know what I should do…"

"Well, is she your friend? Isn't she your friend, Ed?" Lucy looked straight at the robotic man, put on a very strict and stern voice but still a caring undertone was there. For a moment, she vaguely resembled her mother.

He said yes, anxious to hear what she had to say.

"... It might scare her a little," Lucy admitted but tried to make her voice very soft and understanding, so it wouldn't sound so bad, "But _I _was scared when I first met you, too. And now I love you to death and so does everyone else… she'll have to love you, anyway, because you're friends. Friends should love each other no matter what."

Edward felt like he was floating up like a balloon. Hearing Lucy say all that made him feel dizzy and strange.

Then Uncle Frank woke up—when he saw Edward sitting in the kitchen with a gigantic teddy bear in his arms and Lucy leaning on the robotic man's stiff shoulder… the old guy practically had a heart attack.

* * *

Ed sat, a look of forlorn elegance on his face, and stared into the oblivion. Lucy, who was still next to him, began to drift in and out of sleep, flutter her eyelids, bob her tiny head, and mumble incoherient words of ...perhaps... comfort to Edward. 

Uncle Frank had one hand on his balding head, wildly scratching the gleaming skin—and the other hand held the telephone to his ear.

Frank's eyes gazed at Edward in a strange hybrid, perhaps a mongrel, feeling of pity mixed with utter and absolute terror.

"I called you guys as quick as possible. Well, yeah," The Uncle said into the phone, his voice calm and sluggish. But his eyes were aflame with worry. "He's here. Yeah, Edward's here with us." He listened to Molly gabble a little, and he replied, "No." He listened some more, "Yes."

Molly said something on the other line—and Uncle Frank listened to her—plainly considering what she was gibbering about…

…And a very dignified frown was starting to swell up on Frank's face…

"Let me just ask him, Molly. _Edward_? Did you go and tell your friend Victoria about…" At the last few words, grew weak and whispery. He was a little confused on how to navigate past this question; "Did you… happen to…?"

Still glaring off at nothing, Ed answered meekly. "I didn't."

The uncle breathed out an elated sigh of relief, and spoke to the phone. "Don't worry, Molly, he didn't. Yeah, _thank goodness_…_thank goodness_!"

Continuing to be quiet as a dormouse, Edward listened to every single word Frank said.

"I had no idea he ran away from you guys, but I knew something was up, you know?" The Uncle said into the phone, and pacing back and forth in the kitchen.

Frank stopped pacing, all of a sudden, and turned his heels to look at Edward. Frank's eyes scanned the mechanical man up and down, very carefully, as though checking for something. "The guy looks scared, Molly." He looked away from the man slouching on the kitchen stool, "The kid just seems a little downtrodden—"

Frank nodded his head, very seriously, while listening to the squeaky sound coming across the phone.

"Maybe it'll be best if he just stays around here? _Well_…I can tell he wanted to be with Lucy and Bobby, you know how he is with them. Let Edward have a little room to breathe; allow the situation to just…uh, sink in."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence on the other end. And then Molly said something, and, of course, Frank listened to her. And finally, "Yes, I'll watch him." Very sensibly, Frank consented. "Don't you worry about it, I'll have both eyes on him like a hawk, Molly."

* * *

This chapter is the product of a giant sugar high. This is what happens when you mix coffee, Triple Skinny coffee, a Wonka bar, a tiny pack of sweet n' low, sour skittles, and the biggest dose of 7-UP and Pepsi mankind has ever seen. Ahhh yes, sugar...for kids who can't afford heroin. Hehe…just kidding, there. But Wonka bars are lethal. I just had one. I swear to _GOD_, Wonka Industries puts pot in their candy… hehe...haha-hehe... 

**Chef13 THANK YOU FOR POINTING OUT THE UNCLE FRANK INCONSISTANCY! **You mentioned it quite a long time ago, but I see what you mean now— the Walter family would not leave their children ALONE in a bustling and, like all urban areas, somewhat dangerous place. Seriously, chef13…what would become of me if I didn't have you? I guess it'd pretty sad.

All of you, _THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME ABOUT THE 'AUTHOR NOTE' INCIDENT._ I had no idea Author's Notes were 'illegal' here…Christ, I'm stupid…but truth be told, I only skimmed the 'TERMS of AGREEMENT'. (slaps my hand) Bad Sally!…But, still…Holy crapping cow, that was a close one, wasn't it, fellas/girlies? I certainly wouldn't have wanted another 'Number 31' erase-a-fantastic-story-by-accident/on purpose thing again.

**Regarding** my **next **(and also **final**)chapter—I am currently editing and re-writing it. It will be a long chapter, since I will need to tie the story up wholly, neatly, and believably. My suspicion is that it will take awhile to finish, but I will work hard on it. Success is 10 percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration. Wish me luck.

_Love to all_ _for your undying patience. All you guys are unbelievably helpful and kind. So, thanks again._


	20. Endings

_Endings _

0

**Edward** wiggled his pale hands, each finger looking like an ugly worm.

Edward wanted to chop something up. Not violently, of course, but . . . like those shrubs and overgrown rosebushes he'd trimmed in days when he was a barber. Such things had helped him to vent, to bleed himself of all the emotions vaulted inside of him. Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. Edward hadn't known just how the scissors helped him ignore all these feelings—horrible ones, some that were truly heinous and crazy, ones he'd never even felt before in his life—

Hands were useless at trimming, useless to console him, useless to fend off feelings.

"Things will turn out okay." Lucy gabbled on, drowsily, half to herself and half to Edward. Sleepiness weighed down her eyes and head, yet her determination to counsel Edward buoyed her up from dreamland.

Edward flinched as he snapped out of his thoughts. Oily strings of hair fell awkwardly over Ed's eyes, as he nodded to Lucy.

Hanging up the phone, Uncle Frank wandered into the kitchen. A quiet look of seriousness took hold of his face. Glancing at a snoring and supine Bobby, Uncle Frank choked out a nervous little cough.

Blinking listlessly and gnawing at his lips, Edward kept an immovable gaze on the floor.

"You frightened the whole family, you know, Ed— running off like that."

Edward remained lifeless on the stool, his shoulders sagging and eyes urbanely surveying the tiled floor

" . . .Edward," Frank heaved out a concerned sigh, "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, but I want you to know we're all just looking out for you. All we want is to keep you safe."

Uncle Frank leaned over, gave a few counseling pats on Edward's shoulder, offered to make him a nice hot cup of coffee, and before Edward could say 'yes, thank you' or 'thank you, but no'—Uncle Frank was already busy switching on the yellow plastic coffee-maker, making it gurgle, and pulling out a handful of powdered milk packets.

By now, Lucy could no longer keep her droopy eyelids from sagging a bit more, as she drifted off into a light nap. She began to snore muffledly and bury her head in Ed's raggedy jacket. And, eventually, Edward decided to snuggle with the admirable Mr. Teddy, digging his face deeply into Mr. Teddy's frizzy, but deliciously soft, stomach.

Face pushed up against the teddy's rose-red fluff, the mechanical man wondered how he and Victoria could ever keep being friends. Friendships, going by what Edward had been told about them, were all founded on trust. Yet, under the sudden circumstances, Victoria's trust in him was slipping bit by bit . . .

Although Edward knew—and he had seen—that Victoria had been a wonderful friend to him now, he couldn't imagine her ever being the same way if she knew the truth. A repining queasiness gripped him deep in the pit of his stomach, and a faint frisson of sadness pitter-pattered over him, as he forced himself to swallow the fact that Victoria would one day hate him.

Perhaps . . . it would be better to leave the city, and hide away in the castle, before Victoria could ever know anything. '_To be banished avaunt to whense ye came and never to return'_, like the villains and monsters in storybooks. Even though Edward understood that doing this would hurt his friend very much, something else told him it would save her from a lot more confusion and pain.

Slowly, he considered it. And with each slow thought, the pit in his stomach became sicker and the wave of sadness became almost crippling.

Still . . . it began to dawn on him that it was the _only_ thing to do. At least, it the only _right_ thing to do. This way, Victoria would never feel betrayed, or repulsed, or terrified and . . . it was the only way that Edward, in some small way, could still be her friend.

0o0

"Edward," Molly Walters' voice buzzed out through the telephone, "I think you're making the right choice."

Edward had one bony hand dangling uselessly to one side, another bony hand holding the telephone to his ear, and a sunken, hollow look about his eyes.

After he explained his decision to leave the city in broken, malformed sentences and many pauses . . . Edward finally was able to ask Mrs. Walters' if he could join the rest of the family, expect Kennedy, in returning back to the suburbs in the morning. Naturally, everyone was eager to have their Edward safe and sound, and stashed away with them again in the docile pastel neighborhood . . . yet everyone empathized him; he sounded so _downtrodden_ with everything, his voice was so heavy and so accented by hints of quiet sadness . . .

Mrs. Walters' voice was gentler and more compassionate than usual— she knew how difficult this conclusion must've been for Edward, so she tried to soften the situation by being more sensitive than usual. But, thusfar, she wasn't too sure if it was actually working.

"I'm so glad you want to come back, dear."

Uncle Frank watched in the background, sipping from a smoky quaff of coffee, his facial expression blank, numb, and anonymous. Bobby and Lucy both were oblivious, as they were snoozing blissfully and quite loudly on the hotel room's sofa.

"I'm so sorry how everything . . . turned out tonight, Edward." Molly strayed kindly, "But you're making the right decision, you really are, and we're all very proud of you."

Edward remained perfectly mute. Then finally he murmured a very hushed, very tired, "Thank you."

"But I think you'll need to come over and pack up some of your things. It's practically morning anyway, and I'll have to talk to Frank and tell him to get Lucy and Bobby ready for the trip back." Molly added, practical even in the face of heart-braking situations.

It took Edward a moment or two to process everything. His mind was swarmed like a bee-hive of random feelings and thoughts, each one frantically zipping and echoing eerily in his head . . . finally, forcing himself to think straight, he said a quiet but cordial good-bye, and with zombie-like slowness he handed the phone over to Frank.

Nodding and furrowing his brows, Uncle Frank mumbled on a moment or two with Molly until he hung up the phone, and gradually rotated around to face Edward . . .

"Well, she wants you to go back. To pack up." Frank's instincts were absolutely against the idea of letting Edward roam about again. But, nonetheless, he caved in and ignored the bad vibes until they vanished one-by-one.

Slowly Frank ushered a stark-eyed Edward over to the door.

Both said nothing to each other but, at the last moment, Frank leaned in and gave Edward a hug which for some puzzling reason, only made Edward feel twice as hopeless.

0o0

Amongst the potpourri of unwashed teacups, old newspapers, and boundless books— Victoria was scavenging like mad through the chaotic mess that was her living room. Hauling up big piles of notes and trinkets, she adjusted her spectacles precisely before scanning over an old magazine cover, threading carefully through the pages, analyzing every word and picture.

Sighing, she tossed it aside, and then dove promptly into another pile of papers.

Toppling over a white cardboard store-all box, she foraged through the spread-out sheets of old newspaper articles and protest pamphlets.

Victoria _knew_ she had seen Edward's face somewhere in a protest article before, after all she even remembered _recognizing_ him from one of the protests, he was the man who had his face practically lacerated by a criminal. Musing on it, Victoria realized that that protest must've been at least three years ago, back when she was still studying in college.

Truthfully, she didn't really understand why it possessed her all of a sudden to find this article. Just after finishing her tea, while mulling over Edward's family and their strange aversion over question about his past, there was an urge to find out _exactly_ how that past protest and Edward were linked. Intuitively she felt that his family might be a definite part in the link somehow.

Despite it all, Victoria half-wished these searches would end up proving nothing, lest she unveil something . . . something _unusual_ as she feared.

Victoria sighed again for what seemed to be the billionth time that evening, removed her glasses from their perch on her nose, and quickly rubbed her temple.

She knew her apartment was a disaster zone . . . but, having a full-time job while aiming to get a promotion doesn't leave a whole ton of time for housework. On top of that, she spent whatever precious free time she had at the museum rather than scrubbing dishes or folding blankets . . .

Groaning, Victoria slunked down gracelessly into her tattered sofa. This all was so stupid of her, rummaging around for some old piece of paper, something that almost certainly wouldn't—

_. . . What's this?_

Her eyes caught a glimpse of a thick-typed title, '_Medical First: Machine to Man?'. _As if on reflex, her eyebrow quirked up into an inquisitive arch.

Leaning from the sofa, Victoria plucked out the old newspaper from the disarrayed patch of other random papers.

Holding up the clipped-out article, she perused through it's introduction on the possibilities of synthetic skin and bones. Pedantically it drawled on for another page until it made a metamorphism into an overview of the protest of a disabled man who had been charged with second-degree murder. Said man had "blades protruding where fingers should have been", which was a description that sent tremors down Victoria's spine.

A frown curved across Victoria's face. A few stray memories of that protest rolled past her mind's eye— and, thinking of that _monster, _the hairs at the back of her neck thistled-up like needles.

The article blurbed on for another paragraph or so, before— this was were Victoria's mind hit a brick wall— it showed a picture of _Edward_.

It was Edward.

_No. . ._ Victoria held the article nearer to her unreliable eyes, it was her stupid myopic vision. Or a mistake, or her imagination run amok, or some sort of cruel joke . . .

Blinking rapidly and cleaning her glasses with her cotton scarf, Victoria scanned the picture more scrupulously. Upon closer inspection, there were some small differences, but in many ways they looked frighteningly similar. The eyes were the same—puzzled, enormous black eyes. The shape of the face, the pencil-straight posture . . . all the same.

But the _hands_? Victoria tried to ferret out some sort of explanation, still the picture spoke for itself. This _was_ Edward.

Skimming frantically through the some more of the article, Victoria discovered that the monster had a name—which, to immense horror, was _Edward_. At this point, a cold pit opened up in the bottom of her stomach. Trying to apprehend it, she realized suddenly what should've been obvious from day one. Edward _Hands— _his name was the simplest and most suspicious part. Edward Hands, Edward's _scissorhands_.

While all these thoughts sifted through her mind, Victoria was desperately trying to shoo them away as paranoid conjectures. She couldn't believe that Edward, her _friend_ who saved her own life, could be this . . . this perversion. . .

Now the shock was culminating to a point, precise and stinging, searing through her in a ripple of shivers. Betrayal, hatred, bewilderment, desperation . . . Victoria felt everything at once, in one lightning-flash, before it finally left her disoriented and aching.

Dizzy, she raised herself up. Everything she did felt trace-like, surreal.

After what seemed to be _eons_ of standing and staring numbly at nothing, Victoria felt as if she had to leave immediately, to seek out the truth, to know if these fears were only paranoia or not.

Teetering between rushing out the door and swaying backwards in the shock of it all, she snatched her coat and tangled herself up in it, wiggling her arms through the cuffs.

Before unlocking the door, Victoria looked down at the flimsy newspaper picture that was wrinkled up like a dead flower in her tight fist. And something like sadness came over her.

0o0

Once again making a chilly pilgrimage down the city's street toward the tall and grimy apartment complexes, Edward passed through a nomad crowd of drunk carolers who were butchering all sorts of holiday jingles . . . and although they were somewhat of a lively bunch, Edward was able to tunnel on through the swaggering, giggling mass to reach the entrance. In great contrast to the inebriated sing-songers, Edward was troubled and stiffly sober as he pushed against the apartment entrance's large glass doors.

Edward mused on how close the hotel and the apartments were to each other. Probably only a block in distance.

But it was _astonishing_ how Edward's mind had been so distant when he ran away from the family only but a few hours ago . . . and now, returning back to them, although a deep and tangible depression weighed him down, at least Edward was determined to solve this problem. _Solve the problem, _Edward nodded gravely to himself and instantly felt a sense of duty to protect Victoria from the horrible truth . . .

It was unbearable—he was the knight in shining armor and the dragon at the same time. Protecting and threatening at the same time. Saving and killing, all at once.

Clunking up the twirling metal staircase, each step feeling awful, the mechanical man felt as though he might just toss himself off the staircase rail and finish it all, then an there. Frightened, he shivered at his own thoughts. No, that wasn't right. And it wasn't the answer to anything.

Feet aching with each step, Edward felt like he was ascending to some sort of execution tower like those in the Inventor's storybooks; towers where you put your head on a hard wooden block and then . . . the end came in a wide blade. Edward trembled again, his thoughts beginning to terrify him.

And, dragging himself off the staircase and down the linoleum hallway with twittering fluorescent lights, Edward marched on and on, step by step, breath by breath—

" . . . _You_!"

A voice cut through the air, so sharp it felt like it slashed Edward's ears.

Startled, Edward swiveled around to see a familiar face polka-dotted with freckles, balanced with glasses, framed with frizzy hair, and radiating with a slightly disturbing self-righteousness.

His heart immediately leapt into his throat, "Victoria . . ."

"You!" She almost shrieked, shaking the newspaper article at him. Flattening out the picture, she held it out, her gray eyes looking as lethal as sharp metal shards, "Is this you?"

At first Edward had wondered _why_ she was here, appearing out of the blue, but now . . . looking at his grayscale mirror-image in the article held before him . . . he immediately began to have a sinking feeling in his stomach, a hopeless sensation as if he was slipping off a steep cliff. He panicked silently.

His heartbeat thudded out all other sounds, while he stared at the picture that was . . . _him_, only what he _was_ long ago . . .

Victoria barked out again, voice draining out the heartbeats —"Is it?"

Carefully switching his gaze from the piece of pearly-gray paper to Victoria, Edward desperately wanted to . . . say something to help, maybe even tell a lie, just so it would erase the impending pain. . .

"Is this you?" She snapped again.

The moment he looked at her, Victoria took a step back . . . a though she was recoiling away from a dangerous animal, a poisonous snake, rather than her own friend Edward . . .

She knew the truth already, lies wouldn't subdue anything now. Edward was done with lying to Victoria; he was sick of parroting lies, only prolonging the inevitable truth. Edward swallowed down a wave of nausea, it was too late to save her—all he could do now was hurt her.

"Yes."

. . . There was an incinerating silence.

Scraping away her very last shred of hope, Victoria was reassured of what she had known but had hoped, by some magic, could be undone or . . . made somehow untrue. Skin paling down to a deathly color, her mouth opening into a silent scream, Victoria took back another step. And another. And another still.

It was as if she was seeing him for the first time in her life.

His bleak eyes implored, as he approached her and put a soft hand on her arm.

"Don't—" Snatching his hand away, Victoria spat out, "Don't do that. Just—"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not! You're a murderer!"

In a blaze of paranoia, she felt the adrenaline of fight or flight. Victoria's shaking hands curled up into fists; torn on wheather to run for it or to hurt him.

Edward half-covered his face in case she decided to follow her instincts, continue coiling up her fists and knocking him to the ground. And, honestly, Victoria felt every bit of instinct tell her to do just _that_ . . . still she never brought herself to follow through with it. Some small feeling told her he wasn't a perversion, or evil, or anything but her friend, and certainly, she couldn't bring herself to do anything so _violent _against her own friend.

Uncoiling her fists, she threw her hands up and shouted out at him.

" . . . I don't even want to look at you! You did all those horrible things. You did everything."

Slowly emerging from his cower, Edward began to beg. "No . . . Please believe me."

"Lair. . . !" Victoria's voice suddenly lost all sharpness, and it became cracked and exhausted. And she murmured a muffled, "You're a monster," before she ended up leaning against the wall, dazed—not crying, but on the brink—trying to piece together everything, trying to quell her anger, trying to make sense out of it.

Victoria looked in his face, trying to see a monster underneath the facade. But she couldn't see any monsters. Edward wasn't. He was her friend.

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-_Epilogue_-

Ivy and sweet peas had, by this time, weaved into the Mansion's main gate so tightly that it had enveloped it in a tangled mess of spear-shaped leaves and frilly flowers . . . and, observing this with surprise, Edward was forced to scuttle up the crumbling outer wall and tumble down into a prickly monster-sized rosebush in order to enter into his old garden. 

Picking out a thistle from his elbow, dusting off the moist dirt and dark red petals, Edward stumbled out of the rosebush and stared in flummoxed awe at everything.

The Mansion's parterre that had once been so neatly snipped and sculpted was now a complete jungle. The sunflower patch was in disarray, weeds the size of baby trees speckled the walkways, the primroses overran their path, and . . . and Edward slumped down in bewilderment as he saw how the topiaries had all lost their picturesque looks and were now large blobs of brown fluttering leaves.

A giant twig reached out of where the hand topiary used to be, now leaving only a macabre and skeletal twig-hand. Edward sighed, his observant black eyes slowly moving from one devastated side of the garden to the other.

Seeing his garden so overgrown caused Edward to realize how long it had been since he had ventured back up here, to his home.

Peeling off the white petals from one wildflower, letting the white flakes drop down onto his shoes and gravel, Edward sat and thought. He mused on how the past few months had gone by as quick as minutes, gone in a blink of an eye, a flash.

After the confessional Christmas night, Edward had decided to stay in the city for a while longer before coming back. Mainly because of Victoria.

But Victoria belonged in the city, with her ambitions and books and thoughts, and Edward. . . well, he wasn't quite sure where he belonged yet.

It had been grave and puzzling time for Victoria, trying to understand Edward, trying to wipe away her past prejudices and hatred, trying to come to terms that she was friends with a 'perversion'. Loyal as ever, Edward was always around Victoria, trying to explain to her how . . . he hadn't meant to scare her. Or hurt her. And he was so _sorry_. But Victoria always told she understood, even though sometimes she didn't. There were somethings about Edward that Victoria could never fully understand.

A few shards of glass winked innocently from the ground; the shining remains of Jim's fall through the Mansion's zenith window . . . and Edward looked numbly at the ground, memories flooding though him. Long ago memories.

Waking up from his memories, Edward sighed very softly and quietly. He missed seeing Kim—and, now, he realized, he had forgotten what she looked like. All his memories of her were lovely but . . . incomplete, blurry, blotched. He couldn't remember her face. Still, in all honesty, that could've mattered less. Kim couldn't be replaced by anyone—truth be told, to Edward it seemed almost as though she were still alive. Sometimes, when thinking in the dark, he felt as if he had never actually lost her; that Kim was more to him than ever.

Victoria once said that the boundaries between life and death were murky and vague at best, unclear where they _really_ end or begin, and Edward began to appreciate the truth behind what she said.

Running a lone finger along the mossy stone bench, and looking at his garden made him at peace. Maybe it was the comfort of finally being home. Finally feeling at home.

And, Edward took solace from being alone. This way he could think. Of course, it was horrible when he was all alone, _all_ the time . . . but Victoria had promised to visit him, and Lucy was enthralled with the idea of remodeling a _castle_ . . . Lucy had gabbled on to Edward non-stop about how she wanted him to build big ballrooms, and libraries, and dining rooms, and all sorts of rooms like in a _proper_ castle.

So, there would be visitors from time to time . . . and that's all Edward could ask or care for.

Lifting himself up from his seat, Edward turned his sights to the Mansion. Morning glories daintily crept up the gothic windows, curtaining the diamond-framed glass, and other bits of the garden and house had messily melded together. Studying the change, Edward actually thought the Mansion looked more gorgeous than he'd ever remembered it.

The sun shimmered lightly on the oily leaves that cradled the house, making the plants gleam like emeralds embedded in a jagged rock.

He walked up the entry stairs up to the colossal doorway; velveteen shadows darkening the rusty iron fretwork of the door. Brushing away a scintillating silver veil of cobwebs, Edward ventured his way calmly through the icy shade near the doorway. Prying open the moist and maggot-ridden door, Edward peered curiously into the chapel-like darkness of the castle . . .

And, stepping inside the familiar shadows, Edward closed the heavy door.

_The End._

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_So, here's my end-of-summer gift to everyone. Much love to you all._


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